JOSEPH  C.LINCO: 


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UNIVERSITY  9F 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


I 


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3   1822  01142  2193 


JuUuL 


(/ 


niz 


A  I 


THE   RISE  OF 
ROSCOE   PAINE 


'Proud  to  see  you  amongst  us,  sir,'  said  Sim.' 


[Page  128] 


THE  RISE  OF 
ROSCOE    PAINE 

By  JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 


Author  of  "The  Postmaster,"    "Cap'n  Warren's 
Wards,"  "The  Depot  Master,"  Etc. 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY  EDMUND  FREDERICK 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  igia,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACTOR 
PAGE 


" '  Proud  to  see  you  amongst  us,  sir/  said  Sim."  Frontispiece 

"All  the  way  home  I  kept  my  gaze  fixed  on  the  bottom 

boards  of  the  skiff." 82 

"'Are — are  you  sure  there  is  enough  for  two  ?'".     .     .     .     200 

"'Um-hm.     Settin'    so    long    on    the  fence  make  you 

uneasy  ? ' " 290 


THE  RISE 
OF  ROSCOE  PAINE 


CHAPTER   I 

I'M  going  up  to  the  village,"  I  told  Dorinda,  taking 
my  cap  from  the  hook  behind  the  dining-room 
door. 

"What  for?"  asked  Dorinda,  pushing  me  to  one  side 
and  reaching  for  the  dust-cloth,  which  also  was  behind 
the  door. 

"Oh,  just  for  the  walk,"  I  answered,  carelessly. 

"Um-hm,"  observed  Dorinda. 

"Um-hm"  is,  I  believe,  good  Scotch  for  "Yes."  I  have 
read  that  it  is,  somewhere — in  one  of  Barrie's  yarns,  I 
think.  I  had  never  been  in  Scotland,  or  much  of  any 
where  else,  except  the  city  I  was  born  in,  and  my  college 
town,  and  Boston — and  Cape  Cod.  "Um-hm"  meant  yes 
on  the  Cape,  too,  except  when  Dorinda  said  it;  then  it 
might  mean  almost  anything.  When  Mother  asked  her 
to  lower  the  window  shade  in  the  bed-room  she  said 
"Um-hm"  and  lowered  it.  And,  five  minutes  later,  when 
Lute  came  in,  loaded  to  the  guards  with  explanations  as 
to  why  he  had  forgotten  to  clean  the  fish  for  dinner,  she 
said  it  again.  And  the  Equator  and  the  North  Pole  are 
no  nearer  alike,  so  far  as  temperature  is  concerned,  than 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

those  two  "Um-hms."  And  between  them  she  had 
others,  expressing  all  degrees  from  frigid  to  semi-torrid. 

Her  "Um-hm"  this  time  was  somewhere  along  the 
northern  edge  of  Labrador. 

"It's  a  good  morning  for  a  walk,"  I  said. 

"Um-hm,"  repeated  Dorinda,  crossing  over  to  Green 
land,  so  to  speak. 

I  opened  the  outside  door.  The  warm  spring  sun 
shine,  pouring  in,  was  a  pleasant  contrast  and  made  me 
forget,  for  the  moment,  the  glacier  at  my  back.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  "glacier"  isn't  a  good  word ;  glaciers  move 
slowly  and  that  wasn't  Dorinda's  way. 

''What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Work,"  snapped  Dorinda,  unfurling  the  dust  cloth. 
"It's  a  good  mornin*  for  that,  too." 

I  went  out,  turned  the  corner  of  the  house  and  found 
Lute  sound  asleep  on  the  wash  bench  behind  the  kitchen. 
His  full  name  was  Luther  Millard  Filmore  Rogers,  and 
he  was  Dorinda's  husband  by  law,  and  the  burden  which 
Providence,  or  hard  luck,  had  ordered  her  to  carry 
through  this  vale  of  tears.  She  was  a  good  Methodist 
and  there  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that  Providence  was 
responsible.  When  she  rose  to  testify  in  prayer-meeting 
she  always  mentioned  her  "cross"  and  everybody  knew 
that  the  cross  was  Luther.  She  carried  him,  but  it  is  no 
more  than  fair  to  say  that  she  didn't  provide  him  with 
cushions.  She  never  let  him  forget  that  he  was  a  steer 
age  passenger.  However,  Lute  was  well  upholstered 
with  philosophy,  of  a  kind,  and,  so  long  as  he  didn't  have 
to  work  his  passage,  was  happy,  even  if  the  voyage  was 
a  rather  rough  one. 

Just  now  he  was  supposed  to  be  raking  the  back  yard, 
but  the  rake  was  between  his  knees,  his  head  was  tipped 
back  against  the  shingled  wall  of  the  kitchen,  and  he 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  sleeping,  with  the  sunshine  illuminating  his  open 
mouth,  "for  all  the  world  like  a  lamp  in  a  potato  cellar," 
as  his  wife  had  said  the  last  time  she  caught  him  in  this 
position.  She  went  on  to  say  that  it  was  a  pity  he 
wouldn't  stand  on  his  head  when  he  slept.  "Then  I 
could  see  if  your  skull  was  as  holler  as  I  believe  it  is," 
she  told  him. 

Lute  heard  me  as  I  passed  him  and  woke  up.  The 
"potato  cellar"  closed  with  a  snap  and  he  seized  the  rake 
handles  with  both  hands. 

"I  was  takin'  a  sort  of  observation,"  he  explained  hur 
riedly.  "Figgerin'  whether  I'd  better  begin  here  or  over 
by  the  barn.  Oh,  it's  you,  Roscoe,  is  it!  Land  sakes! 
I  thought  first  'twas  Dorindy.  Where  you  bound?" 

"Up  to  the  village,"  I  said. 

"Ain't  goin'  to  the  post-office,  be  you  ?" 

"I  may ;  I  don't  know." 

Lute  sighed.  "I  was  kind  of  cal'latin'  to  go  there  my 
self,"  he  observed,  regretfully.  "Thoph  Newcomb  and 
Cap'n  Jed  Dean  and  the  rest  of  us  was  havin'  a  talk  on 
politics  last  night  up  there  and  'twas  mighty  interestin'. 
Old  Dean  had  Thoph  pretty  well  out  of  the  race  when 
I  hauled  alongside,  but  when  I  got  into  the  argument 
'twas  different.  'What's  goin'  to  become  of  the  laborin' 
men  of  this  country  if  you  have  free  trade?'  I  says. 
Dean  had  to  give  in  that  he  didn't  know.  'Might  have 
to  let  their  wives  support  'em,'  he  says,  pompous  as 
ever.  'That  would  be  a  calamity,  wouldn't  it,  Lute?' 
That  wasn't  no  answer,  of  course.  But  you  can't  ex 
pect  sense  of  a  Democrat.  I  left  him  fumin'  and  come 
away.  I've  thought  of  a  lot  more  questions  to  ask  him 
since  and  I  was  hopin'  I  could  get  at  him  this  mornin'. 
But  no!  Dorindy's  sot  on  havin'  this  yard  raked,  so  I 
s'pose  I've  got  to  do  it." 

3 


He  had  dropped  the  rake,  but  now  he  leaned  over, 
picked  it  up,  and  rose  from  the  wash  bench. 

"I  s'pose  I've  got  to  do  it,"  he  repeated,  "unless," 
hopefully,  "you  want  me  to  run  up  to  the  village  and 
do  your  errand  for  you." 

"No;  I  hadn't  any  errand." 

"Well,  then  I  s'pose  I'd  better  start  in.  Unless  there 
was  somethin'  else  you'd  ruther  I'd  do  to-day.  If  there 
was  I  could  do  this  to-morrer." 

"To-morrow  would  have  one  advantage:  there  would 
be  more  to  rake  then.  However,  judging  by  Dorinda's 
temper  this  morning,  I  think,  perhaps,  you  had  better 
do  it  to-day." 

"What's  Dorindy  doin'?" 

"She  is  dusting  the  dkiing-room." 

"I'll  bet  you !  And  she  dusted  it  yesterday  and  the  day 
afore.  Do  you  know — "  Lute  sat  down  again  on  the 
bench — "sometimes  I  get  real  worried  about  her." 

"No!    Do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  think  she  works  too  hard.  Seems's  if 
sometimes  it  had  kind  of  struck  to  her  brains — work,  I 
mean.  She  don't  think  of  nothin'  else.  Now  take  the 
dustin',  for  instance.  Dustin's  all  right;  I  believe  in 
dustin'  things.  But  I  don't  believe  in  wearin'  'em  out 
dustin'  'em.  That  ain't  sense,  is  it?" 

"It  doesn't  seem  like  it,  that's  a  fact." 

"You  bet  it  don't !  And  it  ain't  good  religion,  neither. 
Now  take — well,  take  this  yard,  for  instance.  What  is 
it  that  I'm  slavin'  myself  over  this  fine  mornin'?  Why, 
rakin'  this  yard!  And  what  am  I  rakin'?  Why,  dead 
leaves  from  last  fall,  and  straws  and  sticks  and  pieces 
of  seaweed  and  such  that  have  blowed  in  durin'  the  win 
ter.  And  what  blowed  'em  in  ?  Why,  the  wind,  sartin ! 
And  whose  wind  was  it  ?  The  Almighty's,  that's  whose ! 

4 


Now  then!  if  the  Almighty  didn't  intend  to  have  dead 
leaves  around  why  did  he  put  trees  for  'em  to  fall  off 
of?  If  he  didn't  want  straws  and  seaweed  and  truck 
around  why  did  He  send  them  everlastin'  no'theasters 
last  November  ?  Did  that  idea  ever  strike  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it  ever  did,  exactly  in  that  way." 

"No.  Well,  that's  'cause  you  ain't  reasoned  it  out, 
same  as  I  have.  You've  got  the  same  trouble  that  most 
folks  have,  you  don't  reason  things  out.  Now,  let's  look 
at  it  straight  in  the  face."  Lute  let  go  of  the  rake  alto 
gether  and  used  both  hands  to  illustrate  his  point.  "That 
finger  there,  we'll  say,  is  me,  rakin'  and  rakin'  hard  as 
ever  I  can.  And  that  fist  there  is  the  Almighty,  not 
meanin'  anything  irreverent.  I  rake,  same  as  I'm  doin* 
this  mornin'.  The  yard's  all  cleaned  up.  Then — zing!" 
Lute's  clenched  fist  swept  across  and  knocked  the  offend 
ing  finger  out  of  the  way.  "Zing!  here  comes  one  of 
the  Almighty's  no'theasters,  same  as  we're  likely  to 
have  to-morrer,  and  the  consarned  yard  is  just  as  dirty 
as  ever.  Ain't  that  so?" 

I  looked  at  the  yard.  "It  seems  to  be  about  as  it  was,'* 
I  agreed,  with  some  sarcasm.  Lute  was  an  immune,  so 
far  as  sarcasm  was  concerned. 

"Yup4"  he  said,  triumphantly.  "Now,  Dorindy,  she's 
a  good,  pious  woman.  She  believes  the  Powers  above 
order  everything.  If  that's  so,  then  ain't  it  sacrilegious 
to  be  all  the  time  flyin'  in  the  face  of  them  Powers  by 
rakin'  and  rakin'  and  dustin'  and  dustin'?  That's  the 
question." 

"But,  according  to  that  reasoning,"  I  observed,  "we 
should  neither  rake  nor  dust.  Wouldn't  that  make  our 
surroundings  rather  uncomfortable,  after  a  while?" 

"Sartin.  But  when  they  got  uncomfortable  then  we 
could  turn  to  and  make  'em  comfortable  again.  I  ain't 

5 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

arguin'  against  work — needful  work,  you  understand. 
I  like  it.  And  I  ain't  thinkin'  of  myself,  you  know,  but 
about  Dorindy.  It  worries  me  to  see  her  wearin'  her 
self  out  with — with  dustin'  and  such.  It  ain't  sense  and 
'tain't  good  religion.  She's  my  wife  and  it's  my  duty  to 
think  for  her  and  look  out  for  her." 

He  paused  and  reached  into  his  overalls  pocket  for  a 
pipe.  Finding  it,  he  reached  into  another  pocket  for  the 
;  wherewithal  to  fill  it. 

"Have  you  suggested  to  her  that  she's  flying  in  the 
face  of  Providence?"  I  asked. 

Lute  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  admitted,  "I  ain't.  Got 
any  tobacco  about  you?  Dorindy  hove  my  plug  away 
yesterday.  I  left  it  back  of  the  clock  and  she  found  it 
and  was  mad — dustin'  again,  of  course." 

He  took  the  pouch  I  handed  him,  filled  his  pipe  and 
absently  put  the  pouch  in  his  pocket. 

"Got  a  match  ?"  he  asked.  "Thanks.  No,  I  ain't  spoke 
to  her  about  it,  though  it's  been  on  my  mind  for  a  long 
spell.  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  say  somethin'  to  her 
along  that  line,  Roscoe.  'Twouldn't  sound  so  personal, 
comin'  from  you.  What  do  you  think?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "Dorinda  wouldn't  pay  much  at 
tention  to  my  ideas  on  such  subjects,  I'm  afraid,"  I  an 
swered.  "She  knows  I'm  not  a  regular  church-goer." 

Lute  was  plainly  disappointed.  "Well,"  he  said,  with 
a  sigh,  "maybe  you're  right.  She  does  cal'late  you're 
kind  of  heathen,  though  she  hopes  you'll  see  the  light 
some  day.  But,  just  the  same,"  he  added,  "it's  a  good 
argument.  I  tried  it  on  the  gang  up  to  the  post-office 
last  night.  I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  'Work's  all  right.  I  be 
lieve  in  it.  I'm  a  workin'  man,  myself.  But  to  work 
when  you  don't  have  to  is  wrong.  Take  Ros  Paine,'  I 
says — " 

6 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why  should  you  take  me?"  I  interrupted,  rather 
sharply. 

"  'Cause  you're  the  best  example  I  could  think  of. 
Everybody  knows  you  don't  do  no  work.  Shootin'  and 
sailin'  and  fishin'  ain't  work,  and  that's  about  all  you  do. 
Take  Ros/  says  I.  'He  might  be  to  work.  He  was  in 
a  bank  up  to  the  city  once  and  he  knows  the  bankin' 
trade.  He  might  be  at  it  now,  but  what  would  be  the 
use?'  I  says.  'He's  got  enough  to  live  on  and  he  lives 
on  it,  'stead  of  keepin'  some  poor  feller  out  of  a  job.' 
That's  right,  too,  ain't  it?" 

I  didn't  answer  at  once.  There  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  be  irritated  because  Luther  Rogers  had  held  me 
up  as  a  shining  example  of  the  do-nothing  class  to  the 
crowd  of  hangers-on  in  a  country  post-office.  What  did 
I  care  for  Denboro  opinion?  Six  years  in  that  gossipy 
village  had  made  me,  so  I  thought,  capable  of  rising 
above  such  things. 

"Well,"  I  asked  after  a  moment,  "what  did  they  say 
to  that?" 

"Oh,  nothin'  much.  They  couldn't ;  I  had  'em,  you  see. 
Some  of  'em  laughed  and  old  Cap'n  Jed  he  hove  out 
somethin'  about  birds  of  a  feather  stickin'  up  for  each 
other.  No  sense  to  it.  But,  as  I  said  afore,  what  can 
you  expect  of  a  Democrat?" 

I  turned  on  my  heel  and  moved  toward  the  back  gate. 

"Ain't  goin',  be  you  ?"  asked  Lute.  "Hadn't  you  better 
set  down  and  rest  your  breakfast  a  spell  ?" 

"No,  I'm  going.  By  the  way,  if  you're  through  with 
that  tobacco  pouch  of  mine,  I'll  take  it  off  your  hands. 
I  may  want  to  smoke  by  and  by." 

Lute  coolly  explained  that  he  had  forgotten  the  pouch  ; 
it  had  "gone  clean  out  of  his  head."  However,  he  handed 
it  over  and  I  left  him  seated  on  the  wash  bench,  with  his 

7 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

head  tipped  back  against  the  shingles.  I  opened  the 
gate  and  strolled  slowly  along  the  path  by  the  edge  of  the 
bluff.  I  had  gone  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  when  I  heard 
a  shrill  voice  behind  me.  Turning,  I  saw  Dorinda  stand 
ing  by  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  dust  cloth  in  hand.  Her 
husband  was  raking  for  dear  life. 

I  walked  on.  The  morning  was  a  beautiful  one.  Be 
side  the  path,  on  the  landward  side,  the  bayberry  and 
beach-plum  bushes  were  in  bud,  the  green  of  the  new 
grass  was  showing  above  the  dead  brown  of  the  old,  a 
bluebird  was  swaying  on  the  stump  of  a  wild  cherry 
tree,  and  the  pines  and  scrub  oaks  of  the  grove  by  the 
Shore  Lane  were  bright,  vivid  splashes  of  color  against 
the  blue  of  the  sky.  At  my  right  hand  the  yellow  sand 
of  the  bluff  broke  sharply  down  to  the  white  beach  and 
the  waters  of  the  bay,  now  beginning  to  ebb.  Across  the 
bay  the  lighthouse  at  Crow  Point  glistened  with  new 
paint  and  I  could  see  a  moving  black  speck,  which  I 
knew  was  Ben  Small,  the  keeper,  busy  whitewashing  the 
fence  beside  it.  Down  on  the  beach  Zeb  Kendrick  was 
overhauling  his  dory.  In  the  distance,  beyond  the  grove, 
I  could  hear  the  carpenters'  hammers  on  the  roof  of  the 
big  Atwater  mansion,  which  was  now  the  property  of 
James  Colton,  the  New  York  millionaire,  whose  rumored 
coming  to  Denboro  to  live  had  filled  the  columns  of  the 
country  weekly  for  three  months.  The  quahaug  boats 
were  anchored  just  inside  the  Point;  a  clam  digger  was 
wading  along  the  outer  edge  of  the  sedge ;  a  lobsterman 
was  hauling  his  pots  in  the  channel;  even  the  bluebird 
on  the  wild  cherry  stump  had  a  straw  in  his  beak  and 
was  plainly  in  the  midst  of  nest  building.  Everyone  had 
something  to  do  and  was  doing  it — everyone  except  Lute 
Rogers  and  myself,  the  "birds  of  a  feather."  And  even 
Lute  was  working  now,  under  compulsion. 

8 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

Ordinarily  the  sight  of  all  this  industry  would  not 
have  affected  me.  I  had  seen  it  all  before,  or  something 
like  it.  The  six  years  I  had  spent  in  Denboro,  the  six 
everlasting,  idle,  monotonous  years,  had  had  their  effect. 
I  had  grown  hardened  and  had  come  to  accept  my  fate, 
at  first  rebelliously,  then  with  more  of  Lute's  peculiar 
kind  of  philosophy.  Circumstances  had  doomed  me  to 
be  a  good-for-nothing,  a  gentleman  loafer  without  the 
usual  excuse — money — and,  as  it  was  my  doom,  I  forced 
myself  to  accept  it,  if  not  with  pleasure,  at  least  with 
resignation.  And  I  determined  to  get  whatever  pleas 
ure  there  might  be  in  it.  So,  when  I  saw  the  majority 
of  the  human  race,  each  with  a  purpose  in  life,  struggling 
to  attain  that  purpose,  I  passed  them  by  with  my  gun  or 
fishing  rod  on  my  shoulder,  and  a  smile  on  my  lips.  If 
my  remnant  of  a  conscience  presumed  to  rise  and  re 
prove  me,  I  stamped  it  down.  It  had  no  reasonable  ex 
cuse  for  rising;  I  wasn't  what  I  was  from  choice. 

But,  somehow,  on  this  particular  morning,  my  unrea 
sonable  conscience  was  again  alive  and  kicking.  Per 
haps  it  was  the  quickening  influence  of  the  spring  which 
resurrected  it;  perhaps  Luther's  quotation  from  the 
remarks  of  Captain  Jedediah  Dean  had  stirred  it  to  re 
bellion.  A  man  may  know,  in  his  heart,  that  he  is  no 
good  and  still  resent  having  others  say  that  he  is,  par 
ticularly  when  they  say  that  he  and  Luther  Rogers  are 
birds  of  a  feather.  I  didn't  care  for  Dean's  good  opin 
ion  ;  of  course  I  didn't !  Nor  for  that  of  any  one  else  in 
Denboro,  my  mother  excepted.  But  Dean  and  the  rest 
should  keep  their  opinions  to  themselves,  confound  them ! 

The  path  from  our  house — the  latter  every  Denboro 
native  spoke  of  as  the  "Paine  Place" — wound  along  the 
edge  of  the  bluff  for  perhaps  three  hundred  yards,  then 
turned  sharply  through  the  grove  of  scrub  oaks  and 

9 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

pitch  pines  and  emerged  on  the  Shore  Lane.  The  Shore 
Lane  was  not  a  public  road,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
term.  It  was  really  a  part  of  my  land  and,  leading,  as  it 
did,  from  the  Lower  Road  to  the  beach,  was  used  as  a 
public  road  merely  because  mother  and  I  permitted  it 
to  be.  It  had  been  so  used,  by  sufferance  of  the  former 
owner,  for  years,  and  when  we  came  into  possession  of 
the  property  we  did  not  interfere  with  the  custom.  Land 
along  the  shore  was  worth  precious  little  at  that  time 
and,  besides,  it  was  pleasant,  rather  than  disagreeable, 
to  hear-  the  fish  carts  going  out  to  the  weirs,  and  the 
wagons  coming  to  the  beach  for  seaweed,  or,  filled  with 
picnic  parties,  rattling  down  the  Lane.  We  could  not 
see  them  from  the  house  until  they  had  passed  the  grove 
and  emerged  upon  the  beach,  but  even  the  noise  of  them 
was  welcome.  The  Paine  Place  was  a  good  half-mile 
from  the  Lower  Road  and  there  were  few  neighbors; 
therefore,  especially  in  the  winter  months,  any  sounds  of 
society  were  comforting. 

I  strode  through  the  grove,  kicking  the  dead  branches 
out  of  my  way,  for  my  mind  was  still  busy  with  Luther 
and  Captain  Dean.  As  I  came  out  into  the  Lane  I 
looked  across  at  the  Atwater  mansion,  now  the  property 
of  the  great  and  only  Colton,  "Big  Jim"  Colton,  whose 
deals  and  corners  in  Wall  Street  supplied  so  many  and 
such  varied  sensations  for  the  financial  pages  of  the  city 
papers,  just  as  those  of  his  wife  and  family  supplied 
news  for  the  society  columns ;  I  looked  across,  I  say,  and 
then  I  stopped  short  to  take  a  longer  look. 

I  could  see  the  carpenters,  whose  hammers  I  had 
heard,  at  work  upon  the  roof  of  the  barn,  now  destined 
to  do  double  duty  as  a  stable  and  garage.  They,  and 
the  painters  and  plumbers,  had  been  busy  on  the  premises 
for  months.  The  establishment  had  been  a  big  one,  even 

10 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE    PAINE 

when  Major  Atwater  owned  it,  but  the  new  owners  had 
torn  down  and  added  and  rebuilt  until  the  house  loomed 
up  like  a  palace  or  a  Newport  villa.  A  Newport  villa  in 
Denboro!  Why  on  earth  any  one  should  deliberately 
choose  Denboro  as  a  place  to  live  in  I  couldn't  under 
stand  ;  but  why  a  millionaire,  with  all  creation  to  select 
from,  should  build  a  Newport  villa  on  the  bluff  overlook 
ing1  Denboro  Bay  was  beyond  comprehension.  The  rea 
son  given  in  the  Cape  Cod  Item  was  that  Mrs.  Colton 
was  "in  debilitated  health,"  whatever  that  is,  and  had 
been  commanded  by  her  doctors  to  seek  sea  air  and  seclu 
sion  and  rest.  Well,  there  was  sea  air  and  rest,  not  to 
mention  seclusion  or  sand  and  mosquitoes,  for  a  square 
mile  about  the  new  villa,  and  no  one  knew  that  better 
than  I,  condemned  to  live  within  the  square.  But  if  Mrs. 
Colton  had  deliberately  chosen  the  spot,  with  malice 
aforethought,  the  place  for  her  was  a  home  for  the  feeble 
minded.  At  least,  that  was  my  opinion  on  that  particular 
morning. 

It  was  not  the  carpenters  who  caused  me  to  pause  in 
my  walk  and  look  across  the  lane  and  over  the  stone  wall 
at  my  new  neighbor's  residence.  What  caught  my  atten 
tion  was  that  the  place  looked  to  be  inhabited.  The  win 
dows  were  open — fifty  or  so  of  them — smoke  was  issu 
ing  from  one  of  the  six  chimneys ;  a  maid  in  a  white  cap 
and  apron  was  standing  by  the  servants'  entrance.  Yes, 
and  a  tall,  bulky  man  with  a  yachting  cap  on  the  back  of 
his  head  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  was  talking  with  Asa 
Peters,  the  boss  carpenter,  by  the  big  door  of  the  barn. 

I  had  not  been  up  to  the  village  for  two  days,  having 
been  employed  at  our  boat-house  on  the  beach  below  the 
house,  getting  my  motor  dory  into  commission  for  the 
summer.  But  now  I  remembered  that  Lute  had  said 
something  about  the  Coltons  being  expected,  or  having 

II 


arrived,  and  that  he  seemed  much  excited  over  it.  He 
would  have  said  more,  but  Dorinda  had  pounced  on  him 
and  sent  him  out  to  shut  up  the  chickens,  which  gave  him 
the  excuse  to  play  truant  and  take  his  evening's  trip  to 
the  post-office.  It  was  plain  that  the  Coltons  had  ar 
rived.  Very  likely  the  stout  man  with  the  yachting  cap 
was  the  mighty  "Big  Jim"  himself.  Well,  I  didn't  envy 
him  in  his  present  situation.  He  had  my  pity,  if  any 
thing. 

Possibly  the  fact  that  I  could  pity  some  one  other  than 
myself  helped  to  raise  my  spirits.  At  any  rate  I  man 
aged  to  shake  off  a  little  of  my  gloom  and  tramped  on 
up  the  Lane,  feeling  more  like  a  human  being  and  less 
like  a  yellow  dog.  Less  as  I  should  imagine  a  yellow 
dog  ought  to  feel,  I  mean,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  most 
yellow  dogs  of  my  acquaintance  seem  to  be  as  happy  as 
their  brown  or  white  or  black  relatives.  I  walked  up  the 
Lane,  turned  into  the  Lower  Road,  and  headed  for  the 
village.  The  day  was  a  gorgeous  one,  the  air  bracing  as 
a  tonic,  and  my  thirtieth  birthday  was  not  yet  so  far 
astern  as  to  be  lost  in  the  fog.  After  all,  there  were 
some  consolations  in  being  alive  and  in  a  state  of  health 
hot  "debilitated."  I  began  to  whistle. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  junction  of  the  Shore 
Lane,  on  the  Lower  Road,  was  a  willow-shaded  spot, 
where  the  brook  which  irrigated  Elnathan  Mullet's  cran 
berry  swamp  ran  under  a  small  wooden  bridge.  It  was 
there  that  I  first  heard  the  horn  and,  turning,  saw  the 
automobile  coming  from  behind  me.  It  was  approaching 
at  a  speed  of,  I  should  say,  thirty  miles  an  hour,  and  I 
jumped  to  the  rail  of  the  bridge  to  let  it  pass.  Autos 
were  not  as  common  on  the  Cape  then  as  they  have  be 
come  since.  Now  the  average  pedestrian  of  common- 
sense  jumps  first  and  looks  afterwards. 

12 


THE  RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

However,  I  jumped  in  time,  and  stood  still  to  watch 
the  car  as  it  went  by.  But  it  did  not  go  by — not  then. 
Its  speed  slackened  as  it  approached  and  it  came  to  a  halt 
on  the  bridge  beside  me.  A  big  car ;  an  aristocratic  car ; 
a  machine  of  pomp  and  price  and  polish,  such  as  Den- 
boro  saw  but  seldom.  It  contained  three  persons — a 
capped  and  goggled  chauffeur  on  the  front  seat,  and  a 
young  fellow  and  a  girl  in  the  tonneau.  They  attracted 
my  attention  in  just  that  order — first  the  chauffeur,  then 
the  young  fellow,  and,  last  of  all,  the  girl. 

It  was  the  chauffeur  who  hailed  me.  He  leaned  across 
the  upholstery  beside  him  and,  still  holding  the  wheel, 
said: 

"Say,  Bill,  what's  the  quickest  way  to  get  to  Bayport?" 

Now  my  name  doesn't  happen  to  be  Bill  and  just  then 
I  objected  to  the  re-christening.  At  another  time  I  might 
have  appreciated  the  joke  and  given  him  the  information 
without  comment.  But  this  morning  I  didn't  feel  like 
joking.  My  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  in  general  in 
cluded  automobilists  who  made  common  folks  get  out 
of  their  way,  and  I  was  resentful. 

"I  should  say  that  you  had  picked  about  as  quick  a 
way  as  any,"  I  answered. 

The  chauffeur  didn't  seem  to  grasp  the  true  inward 
ness  of  this  brilliant  bit. 

"Aw,  what — "  he  stammered.  "Say,  what — look  here, 
I  asked  you — " 

Then  the  young  man  in  the  tonneau  took  charge  of 
the  conversation.  He  was  a  very  young  man,  with  blond 
hair  and  a  silky  mustache,  and  his  clothes  fitted  him  as 
clothes  have  no  right  to  fit — on  Cape  Cod. 

"That'll  do,  Oscar,"  he  ordered.  Then,  turning  to 
me,  he  said: 

"See  here,  my  man,  we  want  to  go  to  Bayport." 

13 


THE  RISE  OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  -was  not  his  man,  and  wouldn't  have  been  for  some 
thing.  The  chauffeur  had  irritated  me,  but  he  irritated 
me  more.  I  didn't  like  him,  his  looks,  his  clothes,  and, 
particularly,  his  manner.  Therefore,  because  I  didn't 
feel  like  answering,  I  showed  my  independence  by  re 
maining  silent. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded,  impatiently.  "Are 
you  deaf  ?  I  say  we  want  to  go  to  Bayport." 

A  newspaper  joke  which  I  had  recently  read  came  to 
my  mind.  "Very  well,"  I  said,  "you  have  my  permis 
sion." 

It  was  a  rude  thing  to  say,  and  not  even  original.  I 
don't  attempt  to  excuse  it.  In  fact,  I  was  sorry  as  soon 
as  I  had  said  it.  It  had  its  effect.  The  young  man 
turned  red.  Then  he  laughed  aloud. 

"Well,  by  Jove !"  he  exclaimed.  "What  have  we  here  ? 
A  humorist,  I  do  believe!  Mabel,  we've  discovered  a 
genuine,  rural  humorist.  Another  David  Harum,  by 
Jove!  Look  at  him!" 

The  girl  in  the  tonneau  swept  aside  her  veil  and 
looked,  as  directed.  And  I  looked  at  her.  The  face  that 
I  saw  was  sweet  and  refined  and  delicate,  a  beautiful 
young  face,  the  face  of  a  lady,  born  and  bred.  All  this 
I  saw  and  realized  at  a  glance;  but  what  I  was  most 
conscious  of  at  the  time  was  the  look  in  the  dark  eyes 
as  they  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot.  Indifference 
was  there,  and  contemptuous  amusement;  she  didn't 
even  condescend  to  smile,  much  less  speak.  Under  that 
look  my  self-importance  shrank  until  the  yellow  dog 
with  which  I  had  compared  myself  loomed  as  large  as 
an  elephant.  She  might  have  looked  that  way  at  some 
curious  and  rather  ridiculous  bug,  just  before  calling  a 
servant  to  step  on  it. 

The  young  man  laughed  again.     "Isn't  it  a  wonder, 

14 


THE   RISE   O*    ROSCOE   PAINE 

Mabel  ?"  he  asked.  "The  native  wit  on  his  native  heath ! 
Reuben — pardon  me,  your  name  is  Reuben,  isn't  it? — 
now  that  you've  had  your  little  joke,  would  you  conde 
scend  to  tell  us  the  road  which  we  should  take  to  reach 
Bayport  in  the  shortest  time?  Would  you  oblige  us  to 
that  extent?" 

The  young  lady  smiled  at  this.  "Victor,"  she  said, 
"how  idiotic  you  are!" 

I  agreed  with  her.  Idiot  was  one  of  the  terms,  the 
mildest,  which  I  should  have  applied  to  that  young  man. 
I  wanted  very  much  to  remove  him  from  that  car  by 
what  Lute  would  call  the  scruff  of  the  neck.  But  most 
of  all,  just  then,  I  wanted  to  be  alone,  to  see  the  last  of 
the  auto  and  its  occupants. 

"First  turn  to  the  right,  second  to  the  left,"  I  said,  sul 
lenly. 

"Thank  you,  Reuben,"  vouchsafed  the  young  man. 
"Here's  hoping  that  your  vegetables  are  fresher  than 
your  jokes.  Go  ahead,  Oscar." 

The  chauffeur  threw  in  the  clutch  and  the  car  buzzed 
up  the  road,  turning  the  corner  at  full  speed.  There 
was  a  loose  board  projecting  from  the  bridge  just  under 
my  feet.  As  a  member — though  an  inactive  one — of  the 
Village  Improvement  Society  I  should  have  trodden  it 
back  into  place.  I  didn't;  I  kicked  it  into  the  brook. 

Then  I  walked  on.  But  the  remainder  of  my  march 
was  a  silent  one,  without  music.  I  did  not  whistle. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  post-office  was  at  Eldredge's  store,  and  El- 
dredge's  store,  situated  at  the  corners,  where 
the  Main  Road  and  the  Depot  Road — which  is 
also  the  direct  road  to  South  Denboro — join,  was  the 
mercantile  and  social  center  of  Denboro.  Simeon  El- 
dredge  kept  the  store,  and  Simeon  was  also  postmaster, 
as  well  as  the  town  constable,  undertaker,  and  auctioneer. 
If  you  wanted  a  spool  of  thread,  a  coffin,  or  the  latest 
bit  of  gossip,  you  applied  at  Eldredge's.  The  gossip  you 
could  be  morally  certain  of  getting  at  once ;  the  thread 
or  the  coffin  you  might  have  to  wait  for. 

I  scarcely  know  why  I  went  to  Eldredge's  that  morn 
ing.  I  did  not  expect  mail,  and  I  did  not  require  Sim 
eon's  services  in  any  one  of  his  professional  capacities. 
Possibly  Lute's  suggestion  had  some  sort  of  psychic  ef 
fect  and  I  stopped  at  the  post-office  involuntarily.  At 
any  rate,  I  woke  from  the  trance  in  which  the  encounter 
with  the  automobile  had  left  me  to  find  myself  walking 
in  at  the  door. 

The  mail  was  not  yet  due,  to  say  nothing  of  having 
arrived  or  been  sorted,  but  there  was  a  fair-sized  crowd 
on  the  settees  and  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  counter. 
Ezra  Mullet  was  there,  and  Alonzo  Black  and  Alvin 
Bakef  and  Thoph  Newcomb.  Beriah  Doane  and  Sam 
Cahoon,  who  lived  in  South  Denboro,  were  there,  too, 
having  driven  over  behind  Beriah's  horse,  on  an  errand ; 
that  is,  Beriah  had  an  errand  and  Sam  came  along  to 

16 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

help  him  remember  it.  In  the  rear  of  the  store,  by  the 
frame  of  letter  boxes,  Captain  Jedediah  Dean  was  talk 
ing  with  Simeon. 

Alvin  Baker  saw  me  first  and  hailed  me  as  I  entered. 

"Here's  Ros  Paine,"  he  exclaimed.  "He'll  know  more 
about  it  than  anybody  else.  Hey,  Ros,  how  many  hired 
help  does  he  keep,  anyhow?  Thoph  says  it's  eight,  but 
I  know  I  counted  more'n  that,  myself." 

"It's  eight,  I  tell  you,"  broke  in  Newcomb,  before  I 
could  answer.  "There's  the  two  cooks  and  the  boy  that 
waits  on  'em " 

"The  idea  of  having  anybody  wait  on  a  cook!"  inter 
rupted  Mullet.  "That's  blame  foolishness." 

"I  never  said  he  waited  on  the  cooks.  I  said  he  waited 
on  them — on  the  family.  And  there's  a  coachman " 

"Why  do  they  call  them  kind  of  fellers  coachmen?" 
put  in  Thoph.  "There  ain't  any  coach.  I  see  the  car 
riages  when  they  come — two  freight  cars  full  of  'em. 
There  was  a  open  two-seater,  and  a  buckboard,  and  that 
high-wheeled  thing  they  called  a  dog-cart." 

Beriah  Doane  laughed  uproariously.  "Land  of  love!" 
he  shouted.  "Does  the  dog  have  a  cart  all  to  himself? 
That's  a  good  one !  You  and  me  ain't  got  no  dog,  Sam, 
but  we  might  have  a  couple  of  cat-carts,  hey?  Haw! 
haw!" 

Thoph  paid  no  attention  to  this  pleasantry.  "There 
was  the  dog-cart,"  he  repeated,  "and  another  thing  they 
called  the  'trap.'  But  there  wan't  any  coach;  I'll  swear 
to  it." 

"Don't  make  no  difference,"  declared  Alvin;  "there 
was  a  man  along  that  said  he  was  the  coachman,  anyhow. 
And  a  big  minister-lookin'  feller  who  was  a  butler,  and 
two  hired  girls  besides  the  cooks.  That's  nine,  any 
how.  One  more'n  you  said,  Thoph." 

17 


THE   RISE  OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"And  that  don't  count  the  chauffeur,  the  chap  that 
runs  the  automobiles,"  said  Alonzo  Black.  "He's  the 
tenth.  Say,  Ros,"  turning  to  me,  "how  many  is  there, 
altogether?" 

"How  many  what?"  I  asked.  It  was  my  first  oppor 
tunity  to  speak. 

"Why,  hired  help — servants,  you  know.  How  many 
does  Mr.  Colton  keep?" 

"I  don't  know  how  many  he  keeps,"  I  said.  "Why 
should  I?" 

The  group  looked  at  me  in  amazement.  Thoph  New- 
comb  voiced  the  general  astonishment. 

"Why  should  you !"  he  repeated.  "Why  shouldn't  you, 
you  mean !  You're  livin'  right  next  door  to  'em,  as  you 
might  say !  My  soul !  If  I  was  you  I  cal'late  I'd  know 
afore  this  time." 

"No  doubt  you  would,  Thoph.  But  I  don't.  I  didn't 
know  the  Coltons  had  arrived  until  I  came  by  just  now. 
They  have  arrived,  I  take  it." 

Arrived !  There  was  no  question  of  the  arrival,  nor 
of  its  being  witnessed  by  everyone  present,  myself  and 
the  South  Denboro  delegates  excepted.  Newcomb  and 
Baker  and  Mullet  and  Black  began  talking  all  together. 
I  learned  that  the  Colton  invasion  of  Denboro  was  a  spec 
tacle  only  equaled  by  the  yearly  coming  of  the  circus  to 
Hyannis,  or  the  opening  of  the  cattle  show  at  Ostable. 
The  carriages  and  horses  had  arrived  by  freight  the 
morning  before;  the  servants  and  the  family  on  the 
afternoon  train. 

"I  see  'em  myself,"  affirmed  Alonzo.  "I  was  as  nigh 
to  'em  as  I  be  to  you.  Mrs.  Colton  is  sort  of  fleshy,  but 
as  handsome  a  woman  as  you'd  want  to  see.  I  spoke  to 
her,  too.  'It's  a  nice  day/  I  says,  'ain't  it  ?' " 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Newcomb. 

18 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"She  didn't  say  nothin'.  Engine  was  makin'  such  a 
noise  she  didn't  hear,  I  presume  likely." 

"Humph!"  sniffed  Baker,  evidently  envious;  "I  guess 
she  heard  you,  all  right.  Fellers  like  you  make  me  tired. 
Grabbin'  every  chance  to  curry  favor  with  rich  folks! 
Wonder  you  didn't  tell  her  you  drove  a  fish-cart  and 
wanted  her  trade !  As  for  me,  I'm.  independent.  Don't 
make  no  difference  to  me  how  well-off  a  person  is. 
They're  human,  just  the  same  as  I  am,  and  /  don't  toady 
to  'em.  If  they  want  to  talk  they  can  send  for  me.  I'll 
wait  till  they  do." 

"Hope  you've  got  lots  of  patience,  Alvin,"  observed 
Mullet  drily.  During  the  hilarity  which  followed,  and 
while  the  offended  apostle  of  independence  was  trying  to 
think  of  a  sufficiently  cutting  reply,  I  walked  to  the  rear 
of  the  store. 

Our  letter  box  was  Number  218,  in  the  center  of  the 
rack,  and,  as  I  approached,  I  glanced  at  it  involuntarily. 
To  my  surprise  there  was  a  letter  in  it ;  I  could  see  it 
through  the  glass  of  the  box  door.  Lute  had,  as  I  knew, 
got  the  mail  the  previous  evening  and  the  morning's  mail 
had  not  yet  arrived.  Therefore  this  letter  must  have 
been  written  by  some  one  in  Denboro  and  posted  late 
the  night  before  or  early  that  morning.  It  was  not  the 
custom  for  Denboro  residents  to  communicate  with  each 
other  through  the  medium  of  the  post.  They  preferred 
to  save  the  two  cents  stamp  money,  as  a  general  thing. 
Bills  sometimes  came  by  mail,  but  this  was  the  tenth,  not 
the  first,  of  the  month ;  and,  besides,  our  bills  were  paid. 

I  reached  into  my  pocket  for  my  keys,  unlocked  the 
box  and  took  out  the  letter.  The  envelope  was  square, 
of  an  expensive  quality,  and  eminently  aristocratic.  It 
was  postmarked  Denboro,  dated  that  morning,  and  ad 
dressed  in  a  sharp,  clear  masculine  hand  unfamiliar  to 

19 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

me,  to  "Roscoe  Paine,  Esq."  The  "Esq."  would  have 
settled  it,  if  the  handwriting  had  not.  No  fellow-towns 
man  of  my  acquaintance  would  address  me,  or  any  one 
else,  as  Esquire.  Misters  and  Captains  were  common 
enough,  but  Esquires — no. 

It  was  a  Denboro  custom,  when  one  received  a  myste 
rious  letter,  to  get  the  fullest  enjoyment  out  of  the 
mystery  before  solving  it.  I  had  known  Dorinda  Rogers 
to  guess,  surmise  and  speculate  for  ten  minutes  before 
opening  a  patent  medicine  circular.  But,  though  myster 
ies  were  uncommon  enough  in  my  life,  I  think  I  should 
have  reached  the  solution  of  this  one  in  the  next  sec 
ond — in  fact,  I  had  torn  the  end  from  the  envelope — 
when  I  was  interrupted. 

It  was  Captain  Dean  who  interrupted  me.  He  had 
evidently  concluded  his  conversation  with  the  post 
master  and  now  was  bearing  down  majestically  upon 
me,  like  a  ten  thousand  ton  steamer  on  a  porgie 
schooner. 

"Hey,  you — Ros !"  he  roared.  He  was  at  my  elbow, 
but  he  roared  just  the  same.  Skipper  of  a  coaster  in  his 
early  days,  he  had  never  outgrown  the  habit  of  pitching 
his  voice  to  carry  above  a  fifty-mile  gale.  "Hey,  Ros. 
See  here ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

I  did  not  want  to  talk  with  any  one,  particularly  with 
him.  He  was  the  individual  who,  according  to  Lute,  had 
bracketed  Mr.  Rogers  and  myself  as  birds  of  a  feather, 
the  remark  which  was  primarily  responsible  for  my  ill 
humor  of  the  morning.  If  he  had  not  said  that,  and  if 
Lute  had  not  quoted  the  saying  to  me,  I  might  have  be 
haved  less  like  a  fool  when  that  automobile  overtook  me, 
I  might  not  have  given  that  young  idiot,  whose  Christian 
name  it  seemed  was  Victor,  the  opportunity  to  be  smart 
at  my  expense.  That  girl  with  the  dark  eyes  might  not 

20 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

have  looked  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  worm  or  a  June  bug. 
Confound  her!  what  right  had  she  to  look  at  me  like 
that  ?  Victor,  or  whatever  his  name  was,  was  a  cub  and 
a  cad  and  as  fresh  as  the  new  paint  on  Ben  Small's  light 
house,  but  he  had  deigned  to  speak.  Whereas  that 
girl ! 

No,  I  did  not  want  to  talk  with  Jedediah  Dean.  How 
ever,  he  wanted  to  talk  to  me,  and  what  he  wanted  he 
usually  got. 

Captain  Dean  was  one  of  Denboro's  leading  citizens. 
His  parents  had  been  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  but  Jede 
diah  had  determined  to  get  money  and  now  he  had  it. 
He  was  reputed  to  be  worth  "upwards  of  thirty  thou 
sand,"  owned  acres  and  acres  of  cranberry  swamps,  and 
the  new  house  he  had  just  built  was  almost  as  big  as 
it  was  ugly,  which  is  saying  considerable.  He  had 
wanted  to  be  a  deacon  in  the  church  and,  though  the 
church  was  by  no  means  so  eager,  deacon  he  became.  He 
was  an  uncompromising  Democrat,  but  he  had  forced 
himself  into  the  Board  of  Selectmen,  every  other  mem 
ber  a  Republican.  He  was  director  in  the  Denboro  bank, 
and  it  was  town  talk  that  his  most  ardent  desire  at  the 
present  time  was  to  see  his  daughter  Helen — Nellie,  we 
all  called  her — married  to  George  Taylor,  cashier  of  that 
bank.  As  George  and  Nellie  were  "keeping  company"  it 
seemed  likely  that  Captain  Jed  would  be  gratified  in  this, 
as  in  all  other  desires.  He  was  a  born  boss,  and  did  his 
best  to  run  the  town  according  to  his  ideas.  Captain 
Elisha  Warren,  who  lived  over  in  South  Denboro  and 
was  also  a  director  in  the  bank,  covered  the  situation 
when  he  said:  "Jed  Dean  is  one  of  those  fellers  who 
ought  to  have  a  big  family  to  order  around.  The  Al 
mighty  gave  him  only  one  child  and  so  he  adopted  Den 
boro  and  is  bossin'  that." 

21 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Ros,'*  repeated  Captain  Jed. 
"Come  here." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  settee  by  the  calico  and  dress 
goods  counter.  I  put  the  unread  letter  in  my  pocket 
and  followed  him. 

"Set  down,"  he  ordered.    "Come  to  anchor  alongside." 

I  came  to  anchor. 

"How's  your  mother?"  he  asked.  "Matilda  was  cal'- 
latin'  to  go  down  and  set  with  her  a  spell  this  afternoon, 
if  she  didn't  have  anything  else  to  do — if  Matilda  didn't, 
I  mean." 

Matilda  was  his  wife.  In  her  husband's  company  she 
was  as  dumb  as  a  broken  phonograph ;  when  he  was  not 
with  her  she  talked  continuously,  as  if  to  get  even.  A 
call  from  Matilda  Dean  was  one  of  the  additional  trials 
which  made  Mother's  invalid  state  harder  to  bear. 

"Course  she  may  not  come,"  Jedediah  hastened  to  say. 
"She's  pretty  busy  these  days.  But  if  she  don't  have  any 
thing  else  to  do  she  will.  I  told  her  she'd  better." 

"Mother  will  be  charmed,"  I  said.  Captain  Jed  was  no 
fool  and  he  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"Urn;  yes,"  he  grunted.  "I  presume  likely.  You're 
charmed,  too,  ain't  you?" 

I  was  not  expecting  this.  I  murmured  something  to 
the  effect  that  I  was  delighted,  of  course. 

"Sartin.  Well,  that's  all  right.  I  didn't  get  you  on 
this  settee  to  charm  you.  I  want  to  talk  business  with 
you  a  minute." 

"Business!    With  me?" 

"Yup.  Or  it  may  be  business  later  on.  I've  been 
thinkin'  about  that  Shore  Lane,  the  one  that  runs  through 
your  land.  Us  town  folks  use  that  a  whole  lot.  I  car- 
late  most  everybody's  come  to  look  at  it  as  a  reg'lar 
public  road  to  the  beach." 

22 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  they  have,"  I  said,  puzzled  to 
know  what  he  was  driving  at.  "It  is  a  public  road, 
practically." 

"No,  'tain't,  neither.  It's  a  private  way,  and  if  you 
wanted  to  you  could  shut  it  off  any  day.  A  good  many 
folks  would  have  shut  it  off  afore  this." 

"Oh,  I  guess  not." 

"I  guess  yes.  I'd  shut  it  off  myself.  I  wouldn't  have 
Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  drivin'  fish  wagons  and  tip  carts 
full  of  seaweed  through  my  premises  free  gratis  for 
nothin'." 

"Why?"  I  asked.     "What  harm  does  it  do?" 

"I  don't  know  as  it  does  any.  But  because  a  tramp 
sleepin'  on  my  front  piazza  might  not  harm  the  piazza, 
that's  no  reason  why  I'd  let  him  sleep  there." 

I  laughed.  "The  two  cases  aren't  exactly  alike,  are 
they  ?"  I  said.  "The  land  is  of  no  value  to  us  at  present. 
Mother  and  I  are  glad  to  have  the  Lane  used,  if  it  is 
a  convenience,  as  I  suppose  it  is." 

"It's  that,  sartin.  Ros,  who  owns  that  land  the  Lane 
runs  through — you  or  your  mother?" 

"It  is  in  my  name,"  I  said. 

"Um-hm.    Well,  would  you  sell  it?" 

"Sell  it!  Sell  that  strip  of  sand  and  beach  grass! 
Who  would  buy  it?" 

"I  don't  know  as  anybody  would.  I  just  asked  if  you'd 
sell  it,  that's  all." 

"Perhaps  I  would.  I  presume  I  should,  if  I  had  the 
chance." 

"Ain't  had  any  chance  yet,  have  you?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,  nothin',  nothin' !  Well,  you  just  think  it  over.  If 
you  decide  you  would  sell  it  and  get  so  fur  as  fixin'  a 
price  on  it,  let  me  know,  will  you  ?" 

23 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Captain,  what  in  the  world  do  you  want  of  that 
land?  See  here!  you  don't  want  to  shut  off  the  Shore 
Lane,  do  you  ?" 

"What  in  time  would  I  want  to  shut  it  off  for?  I  use 
it  as  much  as  anybody,  don't  I?" 

"Then  I  don't  see " 

"Maybe  there  ain't  nothin'  to  see.  Only,  if  you  decide 
to  sell,  let  me  know.  Yes,  and  don't  sell  without  lettin' 
me  know.  Understand?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Well,  you  understand  enough,  I  cal'late.  All  I  want 
you  to  do  is  to  promise  not  to  sell  that  land  the  Lane's 
on  without  speakin'  to  me  fust.  Will  you  promise  that?" 

I  considered  for  a  moment.  "Yes,"  I  said,  "I'll  prom 
ise  that.  Though  I  can't  imagine  what  you're  driving 
at." 

"You  don't  need  to.  Maybe  I'm  just  drivin'  blind;  I 
hope  I  am.  That's  all  I  wanted  to  talk  about,"  rising 
from  the  settee.  "Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  added,  "your 
neighborhood's  honored  just  now,  ain't  it?  The  King  of 
New  York's  arrived,  they  tell  me." 

"King  of  New  York?  Oh!  I  see;  you  mean  the 
Coltons." 

"Sartin.    Who  else?    Met  his  Majesty  yet?" 

"No.    Have  you?" 

"I  met  him  when  he  was  down  a  month  ago.  Sim  El- 
dredge  introduced  me  right  here  in  the  store.  'Mr. 
Colton/  says  Sim,  proud  but  humble,  so  to  speak,  'let  me 
make  you  acquainted  with  one  of  our  selectmen,  Cap'n 
Dean.  Cap'n,  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Colton  of  New 
York/  We  shook,  and  I  cal'late  I'd  ought  to  have  kept 
that  hand  in  a  glass  case  ever  since.  But,  somehow  or 
other,  I  ain't." 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  Colton?"  I  asked. 

24 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Oh,  all  right  of  his  kind,  I  guess.  In  amongst  a  gang 
of  high  financers  like  himself  he'd  size  up  as  a  pretty 
good  sport,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  And  he  was  polite 
enough  to  me,  I  suppose.  But,  darn  him,  I  didn't  like 
the  way  he  looked  at  me !  He  looked  as  if — as  if — well, 
I  can't  tell  you  how  he  looked." 

"You  don't  need  to,"  I  said,  brusquely.     "I  know." 

"You  do,  hey?  He  ain't  looked  at  you,  has  he?  No, 
course  he  ain't !  You  said  you  hadn't  met  him." 

"I've  met  others  of  his  kind." 

"Yes.  Well,  I'm  a  hayseed  and  I  know  it.  I'm  just 
a  countryman  and  he's  a  millionaire.  He'll  be  the  big 
show  in  this  town  from  now  on.  When  he  blows  his 
nose  seven-eighths  of  this  community  '11  start  in  workin' 
up  a  cold  in  the  head." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  started  to  go. 

"Will  you?"  I  asked,  slily. 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  "I  ain't  subject 
to  colds — much,"  he  snapped.  "But  you  better  lay  in  a 
supply  of  handkerchiefs,  Ros." 

I  smiled.  I  knew  what  was  troubling  him.  A  little 
tin  god  has  a  pleasant  time  of  it,  no  doubt,  until  the  com 
ing  of  the  eighteen  carat  gold  idol.  Captain  Jed  had 
•been  boss  of  Denboro — self-appointed  to  that  eminent 
position,  but  holding  it  nevertheless — and  to  be  pushed 
from  his  perch  by  a  city  rival  was  disagreeable.  If  I 
knew  him  he  would  not  be  dethroned  without  a  fight. 
There  were  likely  to  be  some  interesting  and  lively  times 
in  our  village. 

I  could  understand  Dean's  dislike  of  Colton,  but  his 
interest  in  the  Shore  Lane  was  a  mystery.  Why  should 
he  wish  to  buy  that  worthless  strip  of  land?  And  what 
did  he  mean  by  asking  if  I  had  chances  to  sell  it?  Still 
pondering  over  this  puzzle,  I  walked  toward  the  front 

25 


THE  RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

of  the  store,  past  the  group  waiting  for  the  mail,  where 
the  discussion  concerning  the  Coltons  was  still  going 
on,  Thoph  Newcomb  and  Alvin  Baker  both  talking  at 
once. 

"You  ask  Ros,"  shouted  Alvin,  pounding  the  counter 
beside  him.  "Say,  Ros,  Newcomb  here  seems  to  think 
that  because  a  feller  comes  from  the  city  and  is  rich 
that  that  gives  him  the  right  to  order  the  rest  of  us 
around  as  if  we  was  fo'mast  hands.  He  says " 

"I  don't  neither !"  yelled  Thoph.  "What  I  say  is  that 
money  counts,  and " 

"You  do,  too!  Ros,  do  you  intend  to  get  down  on 
your  knees  to  them  Coltons  ?" 

I  laughed  and  went  on  without  replying.  I  left  the 
store  and  strolled  across  the  road  to  the  bank,  intending 
to  make  a  short  call  on  George  Taylor,  the  cashier,  my 
most  intimate  acquaintance  and  the  one  person  in  Den- 
boro  who  came  nearest  to  being  my  friend. 

But  George  was  busy  in  the  directors'  room,  and,  after 
waiting  a  few  moments  in  conversation  with  Henry 
Small,  the  bookkeeper,  I  gave  it  up  and  walked  home, 
across  the  fields  this  time ;  I  had  no  desire  to  meet  more 
automobilists. 

Dorinda  had  finished  dusting  the  dining  room  and  was 
busy  upstairs.  I  could  hear  the  swish-swish  of  her 
broom  overhead.  I  opened  the  door  leading  to  Mother's 
bedroom  and  entered,  closing  the  door  behind  me. 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  as  they  always  were  on 
sunny  days,  and  the  room  was  in  deep  shadow.  Mother 
had  been  asleep,  I  think,  but  she  heard  my  step  and 
recognized  it. 

"Is  that  you,  Boy  ?"  she  asked.  If  I  had  been  fifty,  in 
stead  of  thirty-one,  Mother  would  have  called  me  "Boy" 
just  the  same. 

26 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Yes,  Mother/'  I  said. 

"Where  have  you  been?  For  a  walk?  It  is  a  beauti 
ful  morning,  isn't  it." 

Her  only  way  of  knowing  that  the  morning  was  a 
beautiful  one  was  that  the  shades  were  drawn.  She  had 
not  seen  the  sunlight  on  the  bay,  nor  the  blue  sky;  she 
had  not  felt  the  spring  breeze  on  her  face,  or  the  green 
grass  beneath  her  feet.  Her  only  glimpses  of  the  outside 
world  were  those  which  she  got  on  cloudy  or  stormy 
days  when  the  shades  were  raised  a  few  inches  and,  turn 
ing  her  head  on  the  pillow,  she  could  see  beneath  them. 
For  six  years  she  had  been  helpless  and  bedridden  in  that 
little  room.  But  she  never  complained. 

I  told  her  that  I  had  been  uptown  for  a  walk. 

"Did  you  meet  any  one?"  she  asked. 

I  said  that  I  had  met  Captain  Dean  and  Newcomb  and 
the  rest.  I  said  nothing  of  my  encounter  with  the  motor 
car. 

"Captain  Jed  graciously  informed  me  that  his  wife 
might  be  down  to  sit  with  you  this  afternoon,"  I  said. 
"Provided  she  didn't  have  anything  else  to  do;  he  took 
pains  to  add  that.  You  mustn't  see  her,  of  course." 

She  smiled.  "Why  not?"  she  asked.  "Matilda  is  a 
little  tiresome  at  times,  but  she  means  well." 

"Humph!  Mother,  I  think  you  would  make  excuses 
for  the  Old  Harry  himself.  That  woman  will  talk  you 
to  death." 

"Oh,  no!  Not  as  bad  as  that.  And  poor  Matilda 
doesn't  talk  much  at  home,  I'm  afraid." 

"Her  husband  sees  to  that ;  I  don't  blame  him.  By  the 
way,  the  Captain  had  a  queer  bee  in  his  bonnet  this 
morning.  He  seems  to  be  thinking  of  buying  some  of 
our  property." 

I  told  her  of  Jedediah's  interest  in  the  Shore  Lane  and 

27 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

his  hint  concerning  its  possible  purchase.  She  listened 
and  then  said  thoughtfully: 

"What  have  you  decided  to  do  about  it,  Roscoe  ?" 

"I  haven't  decided  at  all.  What  do  you  think, 
Mother?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  shouldn't  sell,  at  least  un 
til  I  knew  his  reason  for  wanting  to  buy.  It  would 
be  different  if  we  needed  the  money,  but,  of  course,  we 
don't." 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  hastily.  "But  why  not  sell  ?  We 
don't  use  the  land." 

"No.  But  the  Denboro  people  need  that  Lane.  They 
use  it  a  great  deal.  If  it  were  closed  it  would  put  many 
of  them  to  a  great  inconvenience,  particularly  those  who 
get  their  living  alongshore.  Every  one  in  Denboro  has 
been  so  kind  to  us.  I  feel  that  we  owe  them  a  debt  we 
never  can  repay." 

"No  one  could  help  being  kind  to  you,  Mother.  Oh !  I 
have  another  piece  of  news.  Did  you  know  that  our  new 
neighbors,  the  Coltons,  have  arrived?" 

"Yes.  Dorinda  told  me.  Have  you  met  any  of 
them?" 

"No." 

"Dorinda  says  Mrs.  Colton  is  an  invalid.  Poor 
woman !  it  must  be  hard  to  be  ill  when  one  has  so  much 
to  enjoy.  Dorinda  says  they  have  a  very  pretty  daugh 
ter." 

I  made  no  comment.  I  was  not  interested  in  pretty 
daughters,  just  then.  The  memory  of  the  girl  in  the 
auto  was  too  fresh  in  my  mind. 

"Did  you  go  to  the  post-office,  Roscoe  ?"  asked  Mother. 
"I  suppose  there  were  no  letters.  There  seldom  are." 

Then  I  remembered  the  letter  in  my  pocket.  I  had 
forgotten  it  altogether. 

28 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why,  yes,  there  was  a  letter,  a  letter  tor  me.  I 
haven't  read  it  yet." 

I  took  the  envelope  from  my  pocket  and  drew  out 
the  enclosure.  The  latter  was  a  note,  very  brief  and 
very  much  to  the  point.  I  read  it. 

"Well,  by  George!"  I  exclaimed,  angrily. 

"What  is  it,  Roscoe?" 

"It  appears  to  be  a  summons  from  what  Captain  Jed 
called  the  King  of  New  York.  A  summons  to  appear 
at  court." 

"At  court?" 

"Oh,  not  the  criminal  court.  Merely  the  palace  of  his 
Majesty.  Just  listen." 

This  was  the  letter: 

Roscoe  Paine,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir : 

I  should  like  to  see  you  at  my  house  this — Thursday — 
forenoon,  on  a  matter  of  business.     I  shall  expect  you 
at  any  time  after  ten  in  the  morning. 
Yours  truly, 

JAMES  W.  COLTON. 

"From  Mr.  Colton !"  exclaimed  Mother.  "Why !  what 
can  he  want  of  you?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "And  I  don't  particu 
larly  care." 

"Roscoe!" 

"Mother,  did  you  ever  hear  such  a  cool,  nervy  prop 
osition  in  your  life?  He  wants  to  see  me  and  he  orders 
me  to  come  to  him.  Why  doesn't  he  come  to  me?" 

"I  suppose  he  didn't  think  of  it.  He  is  a  big  man  in 
New  York  and  he  has  been  accustomed  to  having  people 
come  at  his  convenience.  It's  his  way  of  doing  things, 
I  suppose." 

29 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Then  I  don't  like  the  way.  This  is  Denboro,  not 
New  York.  He  will  expect  me  at  any  time  after  ten, 
will  he?  Well,  as  Mullet  said  to  Alvin  Baker  just  now 
at  the  post-office,  I  hope  he  has  lots  of  patience.  He'll 
need  it." 

"But  what  can  he  want  of  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Wants  to  look  over  his  nearest  jay 
neighbor,  I  should  imagine,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  curio 
he  is.  He  thinks  it  may  be  necessary  to  put  up  barbed 
wire  fences,  I  suppose." 

"Roscoe,  don't  be  narrow-minded.  Mr.  Colton's  ways 
aren't  ours  and  we  must  make  allowances." 

"Let  him  make  a  few,  for  a  change." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  see  him?" 

"No.    At  least  not  until  I  get  good  and  ready." 

Dorinda  came  in  just  then  to  ask  Mother  some  ques 
tions  concerning  dinner,  for,  though  Mother  had  not 
seen  the  dining  room  since  that  day,  six  years  ago,  when 
she  was  carried  from  it  to  her  bedroom,  she  kept  her 
interest  in  household  affairs  and  insisted  on  being 
consulted  on  all  questions  of  management  and  internal 
economy.  I  rose  from  my  chair  and  started  toward  the 
door. 

"Are  you  going,  Roscoe?"  asked  Mother. 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Oh,  just  out  of  doors ;  perhaps  to  the  boat-house." 

"Boy." 

"Yes,  Mother?" 

"What  is  the  matter?  Something  has  gone  wrong;  I 
knew  it  as  soon  as  you  came  in.  What  is  it?" 

"Nothing.  That  is,  nothing  of  any  consequence.  I'm 
a  little  out  of  sorts  to-day  and  that  man's  letter  irritates 

30 


THE   RISj^   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 


me.  I'll  get  over  it.  I'll  be  back  soon.  Good-by, 
Mother." 

"Good-by,  Boy." 

I  went  out  through  the  dining  room  and  kitchen,  to  the 
back  yard,  where,  seating  myself  on  Lute's  favorite  rest 
ing  place,  the  wash  bench,  I  lit  my  pipe  and  sat  think 
ing,  gloomily  thinking. 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  hate  one 'a  o\v     fattier;  to 
hate  him  and  be  unable  to  forgive  him  x.ven  though 
he  is  dead,  although  he  paid  for-  his  sin  with  his 
life.     Death  is  said  to  pay  all  debts,  but  there  are  some 
it  cannot  pay.     To  my  father  I  owed  my  present  ambi- 
tionless,  idle,  good-for-nothing  life,  my  mother's  illness, 
years  of  disgrace,  the  loss  of  a  ^ame — everything. 

Paine  was  my  mother's  maiden  name;  she  was  chris 
tened  Comfort  Paine.  My  own  Christian  name  is  Roscoe 
and  my  middle  name  is  Paine.  My  other  name,  the 
name  I  was  born  with,  the  name  that  Mother  took  when 
she  married,  we  dropped  when  the  disgrace  came  upon 
us.  It  was  honored  and  respected  once;  now  when  it 
was  repeated  people  coupled  it  with  shame  and  crime 
and  dishonor  and  broken  trust. 

As  a  boy  I  remember  myself  as  a  spoiled  youngster 
who  took  the  luxuries  of  this  world  for  granted.  I  at 
tended  an  expensive  and  select  private  school,  idled  my 
way  through  that  somehow,  and  entered  college,  a  happy- 
go-lucky  young  fellow  with  money  in  my  pocket.  For 
two-thirds  of  my  Freshman  year — which  was  all  I  ex 
perienced  of  University  life — I  enjoyed  myself  as  much 
as  possible,  and  studied  as  little.  Then  came  the  tele 
gram.  I  remember  the  looks  of  the  messenger  who 
brought  it,  the  cap  he  wore,  and  the  grin  on  his  young 
Irish  face  when  the  fellow  sitting  next  me  at  the  battered 
black  oak  table  in  the  back  room  of  Kelly's  asked  him  to 

32 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

have  a  beer.  I  remember  the  song  we  were  singing,  the 
crowd  of  us,  how  it  began  again  and  then  stopped  short 
when  the  others  saw  the  look  on  my  face.  The  telegram 
contained  but  four  words:  "Come  home  at  once."  It 
was  signed  with  the  name  of  my  father's  lawyer. 

I  presume  I  shall  never  forget  even  the  smallest  inci 
dent  of  that  night  journey  in  the  train  and  the  home 
coming.  The  lawyer's  meeting  me  at  the  station  in  the 
early  morning;  his  taking  care  that  I  should  not  see  the 
newspapers,  and  his  breaking  the  news  to  me.  Not  of 
the  illness  or  death  which  I  had  feared  and  dreaded,  but 
of  something  worse — disgrace.  My  father  was  an  em 
bezzler,  a  thief.  He  had  absconded,  had  run  away,  like 
the  coward  he  was,  taking  with  him  what  was  left  of  his 
stealings.  The  banking  house  of  which  he  had  been  the 
head  was  insolvent.  The  police  were  on  his  track.  And, 
worse  and  most  disgraceful  of  all,  he  had  not  fled  alone. 
There  was  a  woman  with  him,  a  woman  whose  escapades 
had  furnished  the  papers  with  sensations  for  years. 

I  had  never  been  well  acquainted  with  my  father.  We 
had  never  been  friends  and  companions,  like  other 
fathers  and  sons  I  knew.  I  remember  him  as  a  harsh, 
red-faced  man,  whom,  as  a  boy,  I  avoided  as  much  as 
possible.  As  I  grew  older  I  never  went  to  him  for  ad 
vice;  he  was  to  me  a  sort  of  walking  pocket-book,  and 
not  much  else.  Mother  has  often  told  me  that  she  re 
members  him  as  something  quite  different,  and  I  suppose 
it  must  be  true,  otherwise  she  would  not  have  married 
him ;  but  to  me  he  was  a  source  of  supply  coupled  with 
a  bad  temper,  that  was  all.  That  I  was  not  utterly  im 
possible,  that,  going  my  own  gait  as  I  did,  I  was  not  a 
complete  young  blackguard,  I  know  now  was  due  entirely 
to  Mother.  She  and  I  were  as  close  friends  as  I  would 
permit  her  to  be.  Father  had  neglected  us  for  years, 

33 


THE  RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

though  how  much  he  had  neglected  and  ill-treated  her  I 
did  not  know  until  she  told  me,  afterward.  She  was  in 
delicate  health  even  then,  but,  when  the  blow  fell,  it  was 
she  and  not  I  who  bore  up  bravely  and  it  was  her  pluck 
and  nerve,  not  mine,  which  pulled  us  through  that  dread 
ful  time. 

And  it  was  dreadful.  The  stories  and  pictures  in  the 
papers!  The  rumors,  always  contradicted,  that  the  em 
bezzler  had  been  caught !  The  misrepresentation  and  lies 
and  scandal !  The  loss  of  those  whom  we  had  supposed 
were  friends !  Mother  bore  them  all,  wore  a  calm,  brave 
face  in  public,  and  only  when  alone  with  me  gave  way, 
and  then  but  at  rare  intervals.  She  clung  to  me  as  her 
only  comfort  and  hope.  I  was  sullen  and  wrathful  and 
resentful,  an  unlicked  cub,  I  suspect,  whose  complaints 
were  selfish  ones  concerning  the  giving  up  of  my  college 
life  and  its  pleasures,  and  the  sacrifice  of  social  position 
and  wealth. 

Mother  had — or  so  we  thought  at  the  time — a  sum 
in  her  own  name  which  would  enable  us  to  live;  al 
though  not  as  we  had  lived  by  a  great  deal.  We  took 
an  apartment  in  an  unfashionable  quarter  of  the  city,  and 
thanks  to  the  lawyer — who  proved  himself  a  real  and 
true  friend — I  was  given  a  minor  position  in  a  small 
bank.  Oddly  enough,  considering  my  former  life,  I 
liked  the  work,  it  interested  me,  and  during  the  next  few 
years  I  was  made,  by  successive  promotions,  bookkeeper, 
teller,  and,  at  last,  assistant  cashier.  No  news  came 
from  the  absconder.  The  police  had  lost  track  of  him, 
and  it  seemed  probable  that  he  would  never  be  heard 
of  again.  But  over  Mother  and  myself  hung  always  the 
dread  that  he  might  be  found  and  all  the  dreadful  busi 
ness  revived  once  more.  Mother  never  mentioned  it, 
nor  did  I,  but  the  dread  was  there. 

34 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Then  came  the  first  breakdown  in  Mother's  health 
which  necessitated  her  removal  to  the  country.  Luther 
and  Dorinda  Rogers  were  distant  relatives  of  our  friend, 
the  lawyer.  They  owned  the  little  house  by  the  shore 
at  Denboro  and  the  lawyer  had  visited  them  occasionally 
on  shooting  and  fishing  trips.  They  were  in  need  of 
money,  for,  as  Dorinda  said:  "We've  got  two  mouths  in 
this  family  and  only  one  pair  of  hands.  One  of  the 
mouths  is  so  big  that  the  hands  can't  fill  it,  let  alone 
the  mouth  that  belongs  to  them."  Mother — as  Mrs. 
Paine,  a  widow — went  there  first  as  a  boarder,  intending 
to  remain  but  a  few  months.  Dorinda  took  to  her  at 
once,  being  attracted  in  the  beginning,  I  think,  by  the 
name.  "They  call  you  Comfort  Paine,"  she  said,  "and 
you  are  a  comfort  to  everybody  else's  pain.  Yet  you 
ain't  out  of  pain  a  minute  scurcely,  yourself.  I  never 
see  anything  like  it.  If  'twan't  wicked  I'd  say  that  name 
was  give  you  by  the  Old  Scratch  himself,  as  a  sort  of 
divilish  joke.  But  anybody  can  see  that  the  Old  Scratch 
never  had  anything  in  common  with  you,  even  a  hand  in 
the  christenin'." 

Dorinda  was  very  kind,  and  Lute  was  a  never-ending 
joy  in  his  peculiar  way.  Mother  would  have  been  almost 
happy  in  the  little  Denboro  home,  if  I  had  been  with 
her.  But  she  was  never  really  happy  when  we  were 
separated,  a  condition  of  mind  which  grew  more  acute 
as  her  health  declined.  I  came  down  from  the  city 
once  every  month  and  those  Sundays  were  great  occa 
sions.  The  Denboro  people  know  me  as  Roscoe  Paine. 

For  a  time  Mother  seemed  to  be  holding  her  own.  In 
answer  to  my  questions  she  always  declared  that  she 
was  ever  so  much  better.  But  Doctor  Quimby,  the  town 
physician,  looked  serious 

"She  must  be  kept  absolutely  quiet,"  he  said.     "She 

35 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

must  not  be  troubled  in  any  way.  Worry  or  mental  dis 
tress  is  what  I  fear  most.  Any  sudden  bad  news  or  shock 
might — well,  goodness  knows  what  effect  it  might  have. 
She  must  not  be  worried.  Ros — "  after  one  has  visited 
Denboro  five  times  in  succession  he  is  generally  called 
by  his  Christian  name — "Ros,  if  you've  got  any  worries 
you  keep  'em  to  yourself." 

I  had  worries,  plenty  of  them.  Our  little  fortune, 
saved,  as  we  thought,  from  the  wreck,  suffered  a  severe 
shrinkage.  A  considerable  portion  of  it,  as  the  lawyers 
discovered,  was  involved  and  belonged  to  the  creditors. 
I  said  nothing  to  Mother  about  this:  she  supposed  that 
we  had  a  sufficient  income  for  our  needs,  even  without 
my  salary.  Without  telling  her  I  gave  up  our  city  apart 
ment,  stored  our  furniture,  and  took  a  room  in  a  board 
ing-house.  I  was  learning  the  banking  business,  was 
trusted  with  more  and  more  responsibility,  and  believed 
my  future  was  secure.  Then  came  the  final  blow. 

I  saw  the  news  in  the  paper  when  I  went  out  to 
lunch.  "Embezzler  and  His  Companion  Caught  in  Rio 
Janeiro.  He  Commits  Suicide  When  Notified  of  His 
Arrest."  These  headlines  stared  at  me  as  I  opened  the 
paper  at  the  restaurant  table.  My  father  had  shot  him 
self  when  the  police  came.  I  read  it  with  scarcely  more 
than  a  vague  feeling  of  pity  for  him.  It  was  of  Mother 
that  I  thought.  The  news  must  be  kept  from  her.  If 
she  should  hear  of  it !  What  should  I  do  ?  I  went  first 
of  all  to  the  lawyer's  office :  he  was  out  of  town  for  the 
day.  I  wandered  up  and  down  the  streets  for  an  hour. 
Then  I  went  back  to  the  bank.  There  I  found  a  telegram 
from  Doctor  Quimby:  "Mrs.  Paine  very  ill.  Come  on 
first  train."  I  knew  what  it  meant.  Mother  had  heard 
the  news;  the  shock  which  the  doctor  dreaded  had  had 
its  effect. 

36 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  reached  Denboro  the  next  morning.  Lute  met  me 
at  the  station.  From  his  disjointed  and  lengthy  story 
I  gathered  that  Mother  had  been  "feelin'  fust-rate  for 
her"  until  the  noon  before.  "I  come  back  from  the  post- 
office,"  said  Lute,  "and  I  was  cal'latin'  to  read  the  news 
paper,  but  Dorindy  had  some  everlastin'  chore  or  other 
for  me  to  do — I  believe  she  thinks  'em  up  in  her  sleep — 
and  I  left  the  paper  on  the  dinin'-room  table  and  went  out 
to  the  barn.  Dorindy  she  come  along  to  boss  me,  as 
usual.  When  we  went  back  to  the  house  there  was  Mrs. 
Comfort  on  the  dinin'-room  floor — dead,  we  was  afraid 
at  fust.  The  paper  was  alongside  of  her,  so  we  judge 
she  was  just  a-goin'  to  read  it  when  she  was  took.  The 
doctor  says  it's  a  paralysis  or  appleplexy  or  somethin'. 
We  carried  her  into  the  bedroom,  but  she  ain't  spoke 
sence." 

She  did  not  speak  for  weeks  and  when  she  did  it  was 
to  ask  for  me.  She  called  my  name  over  and  over  again 
and,  if  I  left  her,  even  for  a  moment,  she  grew  so  much 
worse  that  the  doctor  forbade  my  going  back  to  the 
city.  I  obtained  a  leave  of  absence  from  the  bank  for 
three  months.  By  that  time  she  was  herself,  so  far  as 
her  reason  was  concerned,  but  very  weak  and  unable  to 
bear  the  least  hint  of  disturbance  or  worry.  She  must 
not  be  moved,  so  Doctor  Quimby  said,  and  he  held  out  no 
immediate  hope  of  her  recovering  the  use  of  her  limbs. 
"She  will  be  confined  to  her  bed  for  a  long  time,"  said 
the  doctor,  "and  she  is  easy  only  when  you  are  here. 
If  you  should  go  away  I  am  afraid  she  might  die."  I 
did  not  go  away.  I  gave  up  my  position  in  the  bank  and 
remained  in  Denboro. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  I  bought  the  Rogers  house  and 
land,  moved  a  portion  of  our  furniture  down  there,  sold 
the  rest,  and  resigned  myself  to  a  period  of  idleness  in 

37 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  country.  Dorinda  I  hired  as  housekeeper,  and  when 
Dorinda  accepted  the  engagement  she  threw  in  Lute,  so 
to  speak,  for  good  measure. 

And  here  I  have  been  ever  since.  At  first  I  looked 
upon  my  stay  in  Denboro  as  a  sort  of  enforced  vacation, 
which  was  to  be,  of  course,  only  temporary.  But  time 
went  on  and  Mother's  condition  continued  unchanged. 
She  needed  me  and  I  could  not  leave  her.  I  fished  and 
shot  and  sailed  and  loafed,  losing  ambition  and  self-re 
spect,  aware  that  the  majority  of  the  village  people  con 
sidered  me  too  lazy  to  earn  a  living,  and  caring  little 
for  their  opinion.  At  first  I  had  kept  up  a  hit  or  miss 
correspondence  with  one  or  two  of  my  associates  in  the 
bank,  but  after  a  while  I  dropped  even  this  connection 
with  the  world.  I  was  ashamed  to  have  my  former  ac 
quaintances  know  what  I  had  become,  and  they,  appar 
ently,  were  quite  willing  to  forget  me.  I  expected  to  live 
and  die  in  Denboro,  and  I  faced  the  prospect  with  in 
difference. 

The  summer  people,  cottagers  and  boarders,  I  avoided 
altogether  and  my  only  friend,  and  I  did  not  consider 
him  that,  was  George  Taylor,  the  Denboro  bank  cashier. 
He  was  fond  of  salt-water  and  out-door  sports  and  we 
occasionally  enjoyed  them  together. 

Thanks  to  the  lawyer,  our  names  had  been  scarcely 
mentioned  in  the  papers  at  the  time  of  my  father's  death. 
No  one  in  the  village  knew  our  identity  or  our  story. 
And,  because  I  knew  that  Mother  would  worry  if  she 
were  told,  I  kept  from  her  the  fact  that  our  little  income 
was  but  half  of  what  it  had  been.  Our  wants  were  few, 
and  if  my  clothes  were  no  longer  made  by  the  best  tailors, 
if  they  were  ready-made  and  out-of-date  and  lacked 
pressing,  they  were  whole,  at  all  events,  because  Dorinda 
was  a  tip-top  mender.  In  fact,  I  had  forgotten  they 

38 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

were  out-of-date  until  the  sight  of  the  immaculately 
garbed  young  chap  in  the  automobile  brought  the  com 
parison  between  us  to  my  mind. 

But  now,  as  I  sat  on  the  wash-bench,  thinking  of  all 
this,  I  looked  down  at  my  baggy  trousers  and  faded 
waistcoat  with  disgust.  One  of  the  surest  signs  of  the 
loss  of  self-respect  is  a  disregard  of  one's  personal  ap 
pearance.  I  looked  like  a  hayseed — not  the  independent 
countryman  who  wears  old  clothes  on  week  days  from 
choice  and  is  proudly  conscious  of  a  Sunday  suit  in  the 
closet — but  that  other  variety,  the  post-office  and  bil 
liard-room  idler  who  has  reached  the  point  of  utter  in 
difference,  is  too  shiftless  to  care.  Captain  Jed  was  not 
so  far  wrong,  after  all — Lute  Rogers  and  I  were  birds 
of  a  feather  in  more  ways  than  one. 

No  wonder  that  girl  in  the  auto  had  looked  at  me  as 
if  I  were  something  too  contemptible  for  notice.  Yet  I 
hated  her  for  that  look.  I  had  behaved  like  a  boor,  of 
course.  Because  I  was  a  failure,  a  country  loafer  with 
no  prospect  of  ever  being  anything  else,  because  I  could 
not  ride  in  automobiles  and  others  could — these  were 
no  good  reasons  for  insulting  strangers  more  fortunate 
than  I.  Yet  I  did  hate  that  girl.  Just  then  I  hated  all 
creation,  especially  that  portion  of  it  which  amounted  to 
anything. 

I  took  the  letter  from  my  pocket  and  read  it  again. 
"I  should  like  to  see  you  ...  on  a  matter  of  busi 
ness."  What  business  could  "Yours  truly,  James  W.  Col- 
ton"  have  with  me?  And  Captain  Jed  also  had  talked 
business.  I  supposed  that  I  had  given  up  business  long 
ago  and  for  good ;  now,  all  at  once,  it  seemed  to  be  hunt 
ing  me.  Well,  all  the  hunting  should  be  on  its  side. 

At  another  time  I  might  have  treated  the  great  Col- 
ton's  "summons  to  court"  as  a  joke.  I  might,  like 

39 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Mother,  have  regarded  the  curtness  of  the  command  and 
its  general  tone  of  taking  my  prompt  obedience  for 
granted  as  an  expression  of  the  Wall  Street  magnate's 
habit  of  mind,  and  nothing  more.  He  was  used  to  hav 
ing  people  jump  when  he  snapped  his  fingers.  But  now 
it  made  me  angry.  I  sympathized  with  Dean  and  Alvin 
Baker.  The  possession  of  money  did  not  necessarily  im 
ply  omnipotence.  This  was  Cape  Cod,  not  New  York. 
His  Majesty  might,  as  Captain  Jed  put  it,  have  blown 
his  Imperial  nose,  but  I,  for  one,  wouldn't  "lay  in  a  sup 
ply  of  handkerchiefs" — not  yet. 

I  heard  a  rustle  in  the  bushes  and,  turning  my  head, 
saw  Lute  coming  along  the  path.  He  was  walking  fast 
— fast  for  him,  that  is — and  seemed  to  be  excited.  His 
excitement,  however,  did  not  cause  him  to  forget  pru 
dence.  He  looked  carefully  about  to  be  sure  his  wife 
was  not  in  sight,  before  he  spoke. 

"Dorindy  ain't  been  here  sence  I've  been  gone,  has 
she?"  was  his  first  question. 

"I  guess  not,"  said  I.  "She  has  been  in  the  house 
since  I  got  back.  But  I  don't  know  how  long  you've 
been  gone." 

"Only  a  few  minutes.  I — I  just  stepped  over  'cross  the 
Lane  for  a  jiffy,  that's  all.  Say,  by  time;  them  Coltons 
must  have  money!" 

"That's  a  habit  of  millionaires,  I  believe." 

"Hey?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  If  they  didn't 
have  money  they  couldn't  be  millionaires,  could  they? 
How'd  you  like  to  be  a  millionaire,  Ros?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  never  tried." 

"By  time !  I'd  like  to  try  a  spell.  I've  been  over  lookin' 
'round  their  place.  You  never  see  such  a  place !  Why, 
their  front  doorstep's  big  as  this  yard,  pretty  nigh." 

"Does  it  have  to  be  raked  ?"  I  asked. 

40 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Raked !    Whoever  heard  of  rakin'  a  doorstep  ?" 

"Give  it  up !  But  it  does  seem  to  me  that  I  have  heard 
of  raking  a  yard.  I  think  Dorinda  mentioned  that, 
didn't  she?" 

Lute  looked  at  me :  then  he  hurried  over  and  picked  up 
the  rake  which  was  lying  near  the  barn,  a  pile — a  very 
small  pile— of  chips  and  leaves  beside  it. 

"When  did  she  mention  it?"  he  asked. 

"A  week  ago,  I  think,  was  the  first  time.  She  has 
referred  to  it  occasionally  since.  She  was  mentioning 
it  to  you  when  I  went  up  town  this  morning.  I  heard 
her." 

Lute  looked  relieved.  "Oh,  then!"  he  said.  "I 
thought  you  meant  lately.  Well,  I'm  rakin'  it,  ain't  I? 
Say,  Ros,"  he  added,  eagerly,  "did  you  go  to  the  post- 
office  when  you  was  uptown?  Was  there  a  letter  there 
for  you  ?" 

"What  makes  you  think  there  was?" 

"Asa  Peters'  boy,  the  bow-legged  one,  told  me.  The 
chauffeur,  the  feller  that  pilots  the  automobiles,  asked 
him  where  the  post-office  was  and  he  see  the  address  on 
the  envelope.  He  said  the  letter  was  for  you.  I  told 
him  he  was  lyin' " 

"What  in  the  world  did  you  tell  him  that  for?"  I  in 
terrupted.  I  had  known  Lute  a  long  time,  but  he  some 
times  surprised  me,  even  yet. 

"  'Cause  he  is,  nine  times  out  of  ten,"  replied  Lute, 
promptly.  "You  never  see  such  a  young-one  for  dodgin1 
the  truth.  Why,  one  time  he  told  his  grandmother, 
Asa's  ma,  I  mean,  that " 

"What  did  he  say  about  the  letter?" 

"Said  'twas  for  you.  And  the  chauffeur  said  Mr. 
Colton  told  him  to  mail  it  right  off.  'Twan't  for  you, 
was  it,  Ros?" 

41 


"Yes." 

"It  was!  Well,  by  time!  What  did  a  man  like  Mr. 
Colton  write  to  you  about?" 

Among  his  other  lackings  Lute  was  conspicuously 
short  of  tact.  This  was  no  time  for  him  to  ask  me  such 
a  question,  especially  to  emphasize  the  "you." 

"Why  shouldn't  he  write  to  me?"  I  asked,  tartly. 

"But — but  him — writin'  to  youf 

"Humph !  Even  a  god  stoops  once  in  a  while.  Read 
your  mythology,  Lute." 

"Hey  ?    Say,  look  here,  what  are  you  swearin'  about  ?" 

"Swearing?  Oh,  that's  all  right.  The  god  I  referred 
to  was  a  heathen  one." 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  Dorindy  didn't  hear  you; 
she's  down  on  swearin',  heathen  or  any  other  kind. 
But  what  did  Mr.  Colton  write  to  you  for?" 

"He  says  he  wants  to  see  me." 

"See  you?    What  for?" 

"Don't  know.    Perhaps  he  wants  to  borrow  money." 

"Borrow — !     I  believe  you're  crazy!" 

"No,  I'm  tolerably  sane.  There!  there!  don't  look  at 
me  like  that.  Here's  his  letter.  Read  it,  if  you  want  to." 

Lute's  fingers  were  so  eager  to  grasp  that  letter  that 
they  were  all  thumbs.  He  dropped  it  on  the  grass, 
picked  it  up  with  as  much  care  as  if  it  was  a  diamond, 
and  holding  it  a  foot  from  his  nose — he  had  broken  his 
spectacles  and  was  afraid  to  ask  Dorinda  for  the  money 
to  have  them  repaired — he  spelt  it  out  to  the  last  word. 

"Well,  by  time!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  finished. 
"He  wants  to  see  you  at  his  house  this  forenoon !  And — 
and — why,  the  forenoon's  all  but  gone  now!  What  are 
you  settin'  here  for?" 

"Well,  I  thought  I  should  enjoy  watching  you  rake  the 
yard.  It  is  a  pleasure  deferred  so  far." 

42 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Watchin'  me — !  Roscoe  Paine,  you  are  out  of  your 
head!  Ain't  you  goin'  to  see  him?" 

"No." 

"You  ain't?" 

"No." 

"Ros  Paine,  have  you  jined  in  with  them  darn  fools 
uptown  ?" 

"Who's  swearing  now?    What  fools  do  you  mean?" 

"Darn  ain't  swearin'.  Dorindy  herself  says  that  once 
in  a  while.  I  mean  Alvin  Baker,  and  Jed  Dean  and  the 
rest  of  'em.  They  was  goin'  on  about  Mr.  Colton  last 
night;  said  they  wan't  goin'  to  run  at  his  beck  and  call. 
I  told  'em,  says  I,  'You  ain't  had  the  chance.  You'll  run 
fast  enough  when  you  do.'  " 

"Did  you  say  that  to  Captain  Jed  ?" 

"No-o.  I  said  it  to  Alvin,  but  old  Jed's  just  as  bad. 
He's  down  on  anybody  that's  got  more'n  he  has.  But 
Ros,  you  ain't  foolish  enough  to  side  with  Jed  Dean. 
Just  think!  Here's  Mr.  Colton,  richer'n  King  Solomon 
and  all  his  glory.  He's  got  servants  and  butlers  and 
bonds  and  cowpons  and  horses  and  teams  and  automo 
biles  and " 

I  rose  from  the  wash  bench. 

"I  know  what  he's  got,  Lute,"  I  interrupted.  "And 
I  know  what  he  hasn't  got." 

"What?    Is  there  anything  he  ain't  got?" 

"He  hasn't  got  me — not  yet.  If  he  wants  to  see  me 
he  may.  I  expect  to  be  at  home  for  the  next  day  or 
two." 

"You  don't  mean  you  expect  a  millionaire  like  him  to 
come  cruisin'  after  you!  Well,  by  time!  I  think  I 
see  him!" 

"When  you  do,  let  me  know,"  I  said.  "I  should  like 
to  be  prepared." 

43 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Well, — by — time !"  said  Lute,  by  way  of  summing  up. 

I  ate  dinner  with  Dorinda.  Her  husband  did  not  join 
us.  Dorinda  paid  a  visit  to  the  back  yard  and,  seeing  how 
little  raking  had  been  done,  announced  that  until  the  job 
was  finished  there  would  be  "no  dinner  for  some  folks." 
So  she  and  I  ate  and  Lute  raked,  under  protest,  and 
vowing  that  he  was  so  faint  and  holler  he  cal'lated  to 
collapse  'most  any  time. 

After  the  meal  was  finished  I  went  down  to  the  boat- 
house.  The  boathouse  was  a  little  building  on  the  beach 
at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  below  the  house.  It  was  a  favor 
ite  resort  of  mine  and  I  spent  many  hours  there.  My 
eighteen  foot  motor  launch,  the  Comfort,  the  one  ex 
pensive  luxury  I  allowed  myself  and  which  I  had  bought 
second-hand  two  years  before,  was  jacked  up  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor.  The  engine,  which  I  had  taken  apart 
to  clean,  was  in  pieces  beside  it.  On  the  walls  hung  my 
two  shot  guns  and  my  fishing  rod.  Outside,  on  the  beach, 
was  my  flat-bottomed  skiff,  which  I  used  for  rowing 
about  the  bay,  her  oars  under  the  thwarts.  In  the  boat- 
house  was  a  comfortable  armchair  and  a  small  shelf  of 
books,  novels  for  the  most  part.  A  cheap  clock  and  a 
broken-down  couch.,  the  latter  a  discard  from  the  original 
outfit  of  the  cottage,  made  up  the  list  of  furniture. 

My  idea  in  coming  to  the  boathouse  was  to  continue 
my  work  with  the  engine.  I  tried  it  for  a  half  hour  or 
so  and  then  gave  it  up.  It  did  not  interest  me  then.  I 
shut  the  door  at  the  side  of  the  building,  that  by  which 
I  had  entered — the  big  double  doors  in  front  I  had  not 
opened  at  all — and,  taking  a  book  from  the  shelf, 
stretched  myself  on  the  couch  to  read. 

The  book  I  had  chosen  was  one  belonging  to  the  Den- 
boro  Ladies'  Library ;  Miss  Almena  Doane,  the  librarian, 
had  recommended  it  highly,  as  a  "real  interesting  story, 

44 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

with  lots  of  uplifting  thoughts  in  it."  The  thoughts 
might  be  uplifting  to  Almena,  but  they  did  not  elevate  my 
spirits.  As  for  the  story — well,  the  hero  was  a  young 
gentleman  who  was  poor  but  tremendously  clever  and 
handsome,  and  the  heroine  had  eyes  "as  dark  and  deep 
as  starlit  pools."  The  poor  but  beautiful  person  met  the 
pool-eyed  one  at  a  concert,  where  he  sat,  "his  whole  soul 
transfigured  by  the  music,"  and  she  had  been  "fascinated 
in  spite  of  herself"  by  the  look  on  his  face.  I  read  as  far 
as  that  and  dropped  the  book  in  disgust. 

After  that  I  must  have  fallen  asleep.  What  awakened 
me  was  a  knock  on  the  door.  It  was  Lute,  of  course. 
Probably  mother  wanted  me  for  something  or  other, 
and  Dorinda  had  sent  her  husband  to  hunt  me  up. 

The  knock  was  repeated. 

"Come  in,"  I  said,  sleepily. 

The  door  opened  and  in  came,  not  Lute,  but  a  tall, 
portly  man,  with  a  yachting  cap  on  the  back  of  his  gray 
head,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He  looked  at  me  as  I 
lay  on  the  couch  and  I  lay  on  the  couch  and  looked  at 
him. 

"Afternoon,"  he  said,  curtly.    "Is  your  name  Paine?" 

I  nodded.  I  was  waking  rapidly,  but  I  was  too  as 
tonished  to  speak. 

"Roscoe  Paine?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  mine's  Colton.  I  sent  you  a  letter  this  morn 
ing.  Did  you  get  it?" 


45 


I  SAT  up  on  the  couch.  Mr.  Colton  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  cigar,  waited  an  instant,  and  then 
repeated  his  question. 

"Did  you  get  my  letter  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  you  did.  I  was  afraid  that  man  of  mine  might 
have  forgotten  to  mail  it." 

"No,  I  got  it.    Won't  you— er — won't  you  sit  down?" 

He  pulled  the  armchair  toward  him  and  sat  down.  I 
noticed  that  he  had  a  habit  of  doing  things  quickly.  His 
sentences  were  short  and  to  the  point  and  he  spoke  and 
acted  like  one  accustomed  to  having  his  own  way.  He 
crossed  his  knees  and  looked  about  the  little  building. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  day,"  I  observed,  for  the  sake  of  say 
ing  something.  He  did  not  seem  to  hear  me,  or,  if  he 
did,  he  was  not  interested  in  the  weather.  For  my  part 
I  found  the  situation  embarrassing.  I  knew  what  his 
next  question  would  be,  and  I  did  not  know  how  to 
answer.  Sure  enough,  he  asked  it. 

"I  wrote  you  to  come  over  to  my  place  this  fore 
noon,"  he  said.  "You  didn't  come." 

"No.     I " 

"Why  not?" 

Here  was  the  issue  joined.  Here,  if  ever,  was  the  op 
portunity  to  assert  my  independence  d  la  Jed  Dean  and 
Alvin  Baker.  But  to  assert  it  now,  after  he  had  done 
the  unexpected,  after  the  mountain  had  come  to  Ma- 

46 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

hornet,  seemed  caddish  and  ridiculous.  So  I  temporized, 
weakly. 

"I  didn't  read  your  letter  until  about  noon,"  I  said. 

"I  see.  Well,  I  waited  until  two  o'clock  and  then  I 
decided  to  hunt  you  up.  I  called  at  your  house.  The 
woman  there  said  you  were  down  here.  Your  mother  ?" 

"No."  My  answer  was  prompt  and  sharp  enough  this 
time.  It  was  natural,  perhaps,  that  he  should  presume 
Dorinda  to  be  my  mother,  but  I  did  not  like  it. 

He  paid  absolutely  no  attention  to  the  tone  of  my  reply 
or  its  curtness.  He  did  not  refer  to  Dorinda  again. 
She  might  have  been  my  wife  or  my  great-aunt  for  all 
he  cared. 

"This  your  workshop?"  he  asked,  abruptly.  Then, 
nodding  toward  the  dismembered  engine,  "What  are 
you?  a  boat  builder?" 

"No,  not  exactly." 

"What's  the  price  of  a  boat  like  that?"  indicating  the 
Comfort  with  a  kick  in  her  direction. 

"About  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  I  believe,"  I 
answered. 

"You  believe!     Don't  you  know?" 

"No.    I  bought  that  boat  second-hand." 

He  did  not  refer  to  the  boat  again ;  apparently  forgot 
it  altogether.  His  next  move  was  to  rise  and  turn  to 
ward  the  door.  I  watched  him,  wondering  what  was 
going  to  happen  next.  He  had  a  habit  of  jumping  from 
one  subject  to  another  which  was  bewildering. 

"What's  that  fellow  doing  off  there?"  he  asked,  sud 
denly. 

I  looked  where  he  was  pointing. 

"That  is  Zeb  Kendrick,"  I  answered.  "He's  raking 
for  quahaugs." 

"Raking  for  what  hogs?" 

47 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Quahaugs.    What  you  New  Yorkers  call  clams." 

"Oh!    Sell 'em,  does  he?" 

"Yes." 

"Tell  him  to  call  at  my  house  next  time  you  see  him. 
And  for  heaven's  sake  tell  him  to  come  to  the  servants' 
door.  Don't  you  people  down  here  have  any  servants' 
doors  to  your  houses?  There  have  been  no  less  than 
fifty  peddlers  on  my  porch  since  yesterday  and  my  butler 
will  die  of  apoplexy  if  it  keeps  on.  He's  a  good  one,  for 
a  wonder,  and  I  don't  want  to  lose  him." 

I  made  no  reply  to  this  observation  and  he  did  not 
seem  to  expect  any.  He  watched  Zeb  rake  for  a  moment 
and  then  he  turned  back  to  me. 

"Can  you  come  over  to  my  house  now?"  he  asked. 

I  was  not  expecting  this  and  again  I  did  not  have  an 
answer  ready. 

"Can  you?"  he  went  on.  "I've  got  a  business  deal 
to  make  with  you  and  I'd  rather  make  it  there.  I've  got 
a  lot  of  carpenters  and  painters  at  work  and  they  ask  me 
ten  questions  a  minute.  They  are  unnecessary  questions 
but  if  I  don't  answer  them  the  fellows  are  sure  to  make 
some  fool  mistake  or  other.  They  need  a  governess. 
If  you'll  come  over  with  me  I'll  be  in  touch  with  them 
and  you  and  I  can  talk  just  as  well.  Can  come, 
can't  you?" 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  I  wanted  to  say  no,  that 
if  he  had  any  business  with  me  it  could  be  discussed  in 
that  boathouse.  I  did  not  like  his  manner,  yet  I  had  a 
feeling  that  it  was  his  usual  one  and  that  he  had  not 
meant  to  be  rude.  And  I  could  think  of  no  good  rea 
son  for  not  going  with  him. 

"You  can  come,  can't  you?"  he  repeated. 

"I  suppose  I  can.     But " 


"Of  course  if  you're  too  busy  to  leave- 

48   " 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  remembered  the  position  he  had  found  me  in  and  I 
rather  think  I  had  turned  red.  He  did  not  smile,  but 
there  was  a  sort  of  grim  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"I'll  come,"  I  said. 

"Much  obliged.    I  won't  keep  you  long.    Come  on." 

He  led  the  way  and  I  followed,  rebellious,  and  angry, 
not  so  much  with  him  as  with  myself.  I  wished  now  that 
I  had  gone  over  to  the  Colton  place  when  I  first  received 
the  summons  to  court,  instead  of  making  proclamations 
of  defiance  to  mother  and  Lute  Rogers.  This  seemed 
such  a  complete  backdown.  As  we  passed  the  house  I 
saw  Lute  peering  from  the  barn.  I  devoutly  hoped  he 
might  not  see  me,  but  he  did.  His  mouth  opened  and 
he  stared.  Then,  catching  my  eye,  he  winked  trium 
phantly.  I  wanted  to  punch  his  head. 

The  King  of  New  York  walked  briskly  on  in  silence 
until  we  were  just  at  the  edge  of  the  grove  by  the  Shore 
Lane.  Then  he  stopped  and  turned  to  me. 

"You  own  all  this  land,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Humph !    Get  a  good  view  from  here." 

I  admitted  that  the  view  was  good.  At  that  particu 
lar  point  it  embraced  nearly  the  whole  of  the  bay  in 
front,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  village  at  the  side. 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  cluster  of  houses. 

"There  are  eighteen  hundred  people  in  this  town,  they 
tell  me,"  he  said.  "Permanent  residents,  I  mean.  What 
do  they  all  do?" 

"Do?" 

"Yes.  How  do  they  get  a  living?  They  must  get  it 
somehow.  In  the  regular  summer  resorts  they  squeeze 
it  out  of  the  city  people,  I  know  that.  But  there  aren't 
so  many  cottagers  and  boarders  here.  What  do  you  all 
do  for  a  living?" 

49 


THE   RISE   OP  ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  told  him  that  most  of  masculine  Denboro  fished  or 
farmed  or  kept  store. 

"Which  do  you  do  ?"  he  asked.  "You  said  you  weren't 
a  boat-builder." 

"I'm  not  doing  anything  at  present,"  I  replied,  shortly. 

"Out  of  a  job?" 

"You  might  call  it  that.  Is  this  a  part  of  the  business 
you  wished  to  see  me  about,  Mr.  Colton?" 

I  was  boiling  inwardly  and  a  little  of  the  heat  was 
expressed  in  my  tone.  I  don't  know  whether  he  took 
the  hint  or  merely  lost  interest  in  the  subject.  At  any 
rate  his  reply  was  a  brief  "No,"  and  we  continued  our 
walk. 

As  we  reached  the  Shore  Lane  he  paused  again,  and 
I  thought  he  was  about  to  speak.  He  did  not,  however, 
and  we  crossed  the  boundary  line  of  my  property  and 
entered  the  Colton  grounds.  As  we  drew  nearer  to  the 
house  I  was  surprised  to  see  how  large  it  was.  When 
the  Atwaters  owned  it  I  was  an  occasional  caller  there, 
for  old  Major  At  water  was  fond  of  shooting  and  some 
times  borrowed  my  decoys.  But,  since  it  changed  hands, 
I  had  not  been  nearer  to  it  than  the  Lane.  With  the  new 
wing  and  the  other  additions  it  was  enormous.  It  fairly 
reeked  of  money,  though,  so  far  as  I  was  a  judge,  the 
taste  shown  in  rebuilding  and  decorating  was  good.  We 
turned  the  corner,  where  Asa  Peters,  the  head  carpenter, 
came  hurrying  up.  Asa  looked  surprised  enough  to  see 
me  in  company  with  his  employer  and  regarded  me  won- 
deringly.  "Mr.  Colton,"  he  said,  "I  wanted  to  ask  you 
about  them  skylights."  I  stepped  back  out  of  hearing, 
but  I  inferred  from  Colton's  actions  that  the  question 
was  another  one  of  the  "unnecessary"  ones  he  had  so 
scornfully  referred  to  in  the  boathouse. 

"Jackass !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  rejoined  me.    I  judged 

50 


THE  RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

he  was  classifying  Asa,  but,  if  so,  he  did  not  trouble  to 
lower  his  voice.  "Come  on,  Paine,"  he  added,  and  we 
passed  a  long  line  of  windows,  hung  with  costly  curtains, 
and  stepped  up  on  a  handsome  Colonial  portico  before 
two  big  doors. 

The  doors  were  opened  by  an  imposing  personage  in 
dark  blue  and  brass  buttons,  who  bowed  profoundly  be 
fore  Colton  and  regarded  me  with  condescending  su 
periority.  This  personage,  whom  I  recognized,  from 
Alvin's  description,  as  the  "minister-lookin' "  butler, 
led  us  through  a  hall  about  as  large  as  our  sitting- 
room,  dining-room  and  kitchen  combined,  but  bearing 
no  other  resemblance  to  these  apartments,  and  opened 
another  door,  through  which,  bowing  once  more,  he  ush 
ered  us.  Then  he  closed  the  door,  leaving  himself,  to 
my  relief,  outside.  It  had  been  a  long  time  since  I  was 
waited  upon  by  a  butler  and  I  found  this  specimen  rather 
overpowering. 

The  room  we  were  in  was  the  library,  and,  though  it 
was  bigger  and  far  more  sumptuous  than  the  library 
I  remembered  so  well  as  a  boy,  the  sight  of  the  books 
in  their  cases  along  the  walls  gave  me  a  feeling  almost 
of  homesickness.  My  resentment  against  my  million 
aire  neighbor  increased.  Why  should  he  and  his  have 
everything,  and  the  rest  of  us  be  deprived  of  the  little 
we  once  had? 

Colton  seated  himself  in  a  leather  upholstered  chair 
and  waved  his  hand  toward  another. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.  He  took  a  cigar  from  his  pocket. 
"Smoke?"  he  asked. 

I  was  a  confirmed  smoker,  but  I  was  not  going  to 
smoke  one  of  his  cigars — not  then. 

"No  thank  you,"  said  I.  He  did  not  comment  on  my 
refusal,  but  lit  the  cigar  himself,  from  the  stump  of 

51 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

his  former  one.  Then  he  crossed  his  legs  and  proceeded, 
with  characteristic  abruptness,  to  his  subject. 

"Paine,"  he  began,  "you  own  this  land  next  to  me, 
you  say.  Your  property  ends  at  the  fence  this  side  of 
that  road  we  just  crossed,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  ends  where  yours  begins,"  I  announced. 

"Yes.    Just  this  side  of  that  road." 

"Of  the  Shore 'Lane.    It  isn't  a  road  exactly." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  call  it.  Road  or  lane  or  cow- 
path.  It  ends  there?" 

"Yes." 

"And  it  is  your  land?  It  belongs  to  you,  personally, 
all  of  it,  free  and  clear?" 

"Why — yes;  it  does."  I  could  not  see  what  ousiness 
of  his  my  ownership  of  that  land  might  be. 

"All  right.  I  asked  that  because,  if  it  wasn't  yours, 
if  it  was  tied  up  or  mortgaged  in  any  way,  it  might 
complicate  matters.  But  it  isn't." 

"No." 

"Good!  Then  we  can  get  down  to  brass  tacks  and 
save  time.  I  want  a  piece  of  that  land." 

I  looked  at  him. 

"You  want ?"  I  repeated,  slowly. 

"I  want  a  strip  of  your  land.  Want  to  buy  it,  of 
course.  I  don't  expect  you  to  give  it  to  me.  What's  it 
worth,  by  the  acre,  say?" 

I  did  not  answer.  All  at  once  I  was  beginning  to 
see  a  light.  Captain  Jed  Dean's  mysterious  conversation 
at  the  post-office  was  beginning  to  lose  some  of  its  mys 
tery. 

"Well?"  asked  Colton,  impatiently.  Then,  without 
waiting  longer,  he  added: 

"By  the  way,  before  you  name  a  figure,  answer  me 
one  more  question.  That  road — or  lane,  or  whatever 

52 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

it  is — that  is  yours,  too?  Doesn't  belong  to  the 
town  ?" 

The  light  was  growing  more  brilliant.  I  could  see 
breakers  ahead. 

"No,"  I  replied,  slowly.  "It  is  a  private  way.  It  be 
longs  to  me." 

"Good !  Well,  what's  that  land  of  yours  worth  by  the 
acre?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  scarcely  know,"  I  said.  "I've 
never  figured  it  that  way." 

"I  don't  care  how  you  figure  it.  Here,  let's  get  down 
to  a  business  proposition.  I  want  to  buy  a  strip  of  that 
land  from  the  Lower  Road — that's  what  you  call  the  one 
above  here,  isn't  it? — to  the  beach.  The  strip  I  want 
is  about  three  hundred  feet  wide,  for  a  guess.  It  extends 
from  my  fence  to  the  other  side  of  that  grove  by  the 
bluff.  What  will  you  sell  it  for?" 

The  breakers  were  close  aboard.  However,  I  dodged 
them  momentarily. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  buy  ?"  I  asked. 

"For  reasons." 

"I  should  think  you  had  land  enough  already." 

"I  thought  I  had,  but  it  seems  I  haven't.  Well,  what's 
your  price  for  that  strip?" 

"Mr.  Colton,  I— I'm  afraid " 

"Never  mind  that.  I  suppose  you're  afraid  you'll 
make  the  price  too  low.  Now,  see  here,  I'm  a  busy  man. 
I  haven't  time  to  do  any  bargaining.  Name  your  price 
and,  if  it's  anywhere  within  reason,  we  won't  haggle.  I 
expect  to  pay  more  than  anyone  else  would.  That's 
part  of  my  fine  for  being  a  city  man  and  not  a  native. 
Gad!  the  privilege  is  worth  the  money.  I'll  pay  the 
fine.  What's  the  price?" 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  buy  ?" 

S3 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"For  reasons  of  my  own,  I  tell  you.  They  haven't 
anything  to  do  with  your  selling." 

"I'm  not  so  sure." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"That  strip  takes  in  the  Shore  Lane,  Mr.  Colton." 

"I  know  it." 

"And,  if  you  buy,  I  presume  the  Lane  will  be  closed." 

He  looked  at  me,  surprised,  and,  I  thought,  a  little 
annoyed. 

"Well?"  he  said;  "suppose  it  is?" 

"But  it  will  be,  won't  it  ?" 

"You  bet  your  life  it  will !    What  of  it?" 

"Then  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  sell." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"You  don't  care  to  sell !"  he  repeated,  slowly.  "What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"What  I  said.    And,  besides,  Mr.  Colton,  I " 

He  interrupted  me. 

"Why  don't  you  care  to  sell?"  he  demanded.  "The 
land  is  no  good  to  you,  is  it?" 

"Not  much.    No." 

"Humph!  Are  you  so  rich  that  you've  got  all  the 
money  you  want?" 

I  was  angry  all  through.    I  rose  from  my  chair. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Colton,"  I  said. 

"Here!"  he  shouted.  "Hold  on!  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"I  can't  see  that  there  is  any  use  of  our  talking  fur 
ther." 

"No  use?  Why — There!  there!  sit  down.  It's  none 
of  my  business  how  rich  you  are,  and  I  beg  your  par 
don.  Sit  down.  Sit  down,  man,  I  tell  you !" 

I  sat  down,  reluctantly.  He  threw  his  cigar,  which 
had  gone  out,  into  the  fireplace  and  lit  another. 

54 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Say,"  he  said,  "you  surprise  me,  Paine.  What  do 
you  mean  by  saying  you  won't  sell  that  land?  You 
don't  know  what  I'll  pay  for  it  yet." 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Then  how  do  you  know  you  won't  sell  it?  I  never 
had  anything  yet — except  my  wife  and  family — that  I 
wouldn't  sell  for  a  price.  Look  here !  I  haven't  got  time 
to  do  any  Down-East  horse-jockeying.  I'll  make  you 
an  offer.  I'll  give  you  five  hundred  dollars  cash  for 
that  strip  of  land.  What  do  you  say?" 

I  didn't  say  anything.  Five  hundred  dollars  was  a 
generous  offer.  I  couldn't  help  thinking  what  Mother 
and  I  might  do  with  that  five  hundred  dollars. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  repeated. 

I  answered,  Yankee  fashion,  with  another  question. 

"Mr.  Colton,"  I  asked,  "why  do  you  want  to  close 
that  Shore  Lane?" 

"Because  I  do.  What  difference  does  it  make  to  you 
why  I  want  to  close  it?" 

"That  Lane  has  been  used  by  Denboro  people  for 
years.  It  is  almost  a  public  necessity." 

He  puffed  twice  on  his  cigar  before  he  spoke  again. 
When  he  did  it  was  in  a  different  tone. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "Humph!  I  see.  Paine,  does  the 
town  pay  you  rent  for  the  use  of  that  road?" 

"No." 

"Has  it  been  bidding  to  buy  it  ?" 

"No." 

"Is  any  one  else  after  it?" 

"No-o.     I  think  not.    But " 

"You  think  not.  That  means  you're  not  sure.  You've 
had  a  bite  somewhere.  Somebody  has  been  nibbling  at 
your  hook.  Well,  they've  got  to  bite  quick  and  swallow 
some  to  get  ahead  of  me.  I  want  that  road  closed  and 

55 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I'm  going  to  have  it  closed,  sooner  or  later.  I'd  prefer 
it  sooner." 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  close  it  ?" 

Before  he  could  answer  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door.  The  butler  appeared. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir "  he  began.  His  master 

cut  him  short. 

"Tell  'em  to  wait,"  he  ordered.  "I  can't  see  any  one 
now,  Johnson.  If  it  is  that  damned  carpenter  he  can 
wait." 

"It  isn't  the  carpenter,  sir,"  explained  Johnson.  "It's 
Mrs.  Colton,  sir.  She  wishes  to  know  if  you  have  bought 
that  road.  She  says  three  of  those  'orrid  fishcarts  have 
gone  by  in  the  last  hour,  sir,  and  they  are  making  her 
very  nervous.  That's  all,  sir." 

"Tell  her  I've  bought  it,"  snapped  the  head  of  the 
house.  "Get  out." 

The  butler  obeyed  orders.     Colton  turned  to  me. 

"You  heard  that,  Paine,"  he  said.  "That's  my  reason, 
the  principal  one.  I  bought  this  place  principally  on  ac 
count  of  Mrs.  Colton's  health.  The  doctors  said  she  needed 
quiet  and  rest.  I  thought  she  could  have  them  here — 
God  knows  the  place  looked  forsaken  enough — but  it  ap 
pears  she  can't.  Whenever  she  or  I  sit  on  the  veranda 
or  at  a  window  we  have  to  watch  a  procession  of  jays 
driving  smelly  fish  carts  through  that  lane  of  yours,  or 
be  stared  at  by  a  gang  of  countrymen  hanging  over  the 
fence.  It's  a  nuisance.  It  is  bad  enough  for  me  or  my 
daughter  and  our  guests,  but  it  will  be  the  ruination  of 
my  wife's  nerves,  and  I  can't  stand  for  that.  You  see 
the  position  I'm  in.  You  heard  what  I  told  that  butler. 
I  said  I  had  bought  the  road.  You  wouldn't  make  me  a 
liar,  would  you?  I'll  give  you  five  hundred  for  that 
bunch  of  sand.  You  couldn't  get  more  for  it  if  you  sold 

56 


it  by  the  pound,  like  tea.  Say  yes,  and  close  the 
deal." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  understand  your  position,  Mr.  Colton,"  I  said,  "but 
I  can't  say  yes.  Not  now,  at  any  rate." 

"Why  not  ?    Isn't  five  hundred  enough  ?" 

"It's  a  good  offer." 

"Then  why  not  accept  it?" 

"Because,  if  I  were  certain  that  I  wanted  to  sell,  I 
could  not  accept  any  offer  just  now." 

"Why  not  ?  See  here !  are  you  afraid  the  town  will  be 
sore  because  the  road  is  closed?" 

"It  would  be  a  great  inconvenience  to  them." 

"It's  a  greater  one  to  me  as  it  is.  Can  you  afford 
to  be  a  philanthropist?  Are  you  one  of  those  public- 
spirited  citizens  we  read  about?" 

He  was  sneering  now,  and  my  anger,  which  had  les 
sened  somewhat  when  he  spoke  of  his  wife's  ill  health, 
was  rising  again. 

"Are  you?"  he  repeated. 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that.  But,  as  I  said  a  while  ago, 
Mr.  Colton,  I  couldn't  sell  that  land  to  you  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,  if  there  were  no  other  reason,  I  promised 
not  to  sell  it  without  telling  another  person  first." 

He  threw  down  his  cigar  and  stood  up.     I  rose  also. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  v/ith  sarcasm.  "I  knew  there  was 
something  beside  public  spirit.  You  think,  by  hanging 
off  and  playing  me  against  this  other  sucker,  you  can 
get  a  higher  price.  Well,  if  that's  the  game,  I'll  keep 
him  busy." 

He  took  out  his  watch,  glanced  at  it,  and  thrust  it 
back  into  his  pocket. 

"I've  wasted  time  enough  over  this  fool  thing,"  he 

57 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

declared.  "Now  that  I  know  what  the  game  is  we'll  talk 
to  the  point.  It's  highway  robbery,  but  I  might  have 
expected  to  be  robbed.  I'll  give  you  six  hundred  for  that 
land." 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  holding  my  temper  by  main 
strength  and  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak. 

"Well?"  he  sneered.  "That  shakes  your  public  spirit 
some,  hey?  What  do  you  say?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  and  started  for  the  door. 

"What!"  he  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  "By  the 
Lord  Harry !  the  fellow  is  crazy.  Six  hundred  and  fifty 
then,  you  infernal  robber." 

"No." 

"No!    Say,  what  in  thunder  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  you  may  go  to  the  devil,"  I  retorted, 
and  reached  for  the  door  knob. 

But  before  my  fingers  touched  it  there  was  the  sound 
of  laughter  and  voices  in  the  hall.  The  knob  was  turned 
from  without.  I  stepped  back  and  to  one  side  involun 
tarily,  as  the  door  opened  and  into  the  library  came,  not 
the  butler,  but  a  young  lady,  a  girl  in  an  automobile  coat 
and  bonnet.  And,  following  her,  a  young  man. 

"Father,"  said  the  young  lady,  "Johnson  says  you've 
bought  that  horrid  road.  I'm  so  glad !  When  did  you 
do  it?" 

"Congratulations,  Mr.  Colton,"  said  the  young  man. 
"We  just  passed  a  cart  full  of  something — seaweed,  I 
believe  it  was — as  we  came  along  with  the  car.  Oscar 
had  to  slow  down  to  squeeze  by,  and  we  certainly  were 
swept  by  ocean  breezes.  By  Jove!  I  can  smell  them 
yet.  I " 

The  young  lady  interrupted  him. 

"Hush,  Victor,"  she  said.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Father, 
I  thought  you  were  alone.  Victor,  we're  intruding." 

58 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

The  open  door  had  partially  screened  me  from  the  new 
comers.  But  Colton,  red  and  wrathful,  had  not  ceased  to 
glare  in  my  direction  and  she,  following  his  gaze,  saw 
me.  She  did  not  recognize  me,  I  think — probably  I  had 
not  made  sufficient  impression  upon  her  mind  even  for 
casual  remembrance — but  I  recognized  her.  She  was  the 
girl  with  the  dark  eyes,  whose  look  of  contemptuous  in 
difference  had  so  withered  my  self-esteem.  And  her 
companion  was  the  young  chap  who,  from  the  tonneau 
of  the  automobile  that  morning,  had  inquired  the  way 
to  Bayport. 

The  young  man  turned  lazily.  "Are  we?"  he  said. 
"I_  What !  Why,  Mabel,  it's  the  humorist !" 

Then  she  recognized  me.  I  could  feel  the  blood  climb 
ing  from  my  toes  to  the  roots  of  my  hair.  I  was  too 
astonished  and  chagrined  to  speak  or  even  move,  though 
I  wanted  to  move  very  much  indeed.  She  looked  at  me 
and  I  at  her.  Then  she  turned  coldly  away. 

"Come,  Victor,"  she  said. 

But  Victor  was  his  own  blase  self.  It  tools  more  than 
a  trifle  to  shake  his  calm.  He  laughed. 

"It's  the  humorist,"  he  repeated.  "Reuben,  how  are 
you?" 

Colton  regarded  the  three  of  us  with  amazement. 

"What?"  he  began.    "Mabel,  do  you " 

But  I  had  recovered  my  powers  of  locomotion.  I  was 
on  my  way  out  of  that  library. 

"Here!"  shouted  Colton.    "Stop!" 

I  did  not  stop.  Feeling  as  I  did  at  that  moment  it 
would  have  been  distinctly  unpleasant  for  the  person  who 
tried  to  stop  me.  The  girl  was  in  my  way  and,  as  I 
approached,  she  drew  her  skirts  aside.  No  doubt  it  was 
my  imagination  which  made  her  manner  of  doing  it  seem 
like  an  insult,  but,  imagination  or  reality,  it  was  the  one 

59 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

thing  necessary  to  clench  my  resolution.  Now  when  she 
looked  at  me  I  returned  the  look  with  interest.  I  strode 
through  the  doorway  and  across  the  hall.  The  butler 
would  have  opened  the  outer  door  for  me,  but  I  opened 
it  myself  to  the  imminent  danger  of  his  dignified  nose. 
As  I  stepped  from  the  portico  I  heard  behind  me  a  roar 
from  Big  Jim  Colton  and  a  shout  of  laughter  from  Victor. 

I  walked  home  at  top  speed.  Only  once  did  I  look 
back.  That  was  just  as  I  was  about  to  enter  the  grove 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Shore  Lane.  Then  I  turned  and 
saw,  at  the  big  window  at  the  end  of  the  "Newport 
villa,"  a  group  of  three  staring  in  my  direction :  Colton, 
his  daughter  and  that  cub  Victor.  The  distance  was 
too  great  to  see  the  expression  of  their  faces,  but  I  knew 
that  two  of  them,  at  least,  were  laughing — laughing 
at  me. 

I  did  not  laugh. 

Lute  was  waiting  for  me  by  the  gate  and  ran  to  meet 
me.  He  was  wild  with  excitement. 

"He  came  after  you,  didn't  he?"  he  cried,  grabbing 
at  my  coat  sleeve.  "You  went  over  to  his  house  with 
him,  didn't  you !  I  see  you  and  at  fust  I  couldn't  scurcely 
believe  it.  What  did  he  want?  What  did  he  say?" 

I  did  not  answer.  He  ran  along  beside  me,  still  cling 
ing  to  my  sleeve. 

"What  did  he  want?"  he  repeated.  "What  did  he  say 
to  you  ?  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  Tell  a  feller,  can't 
you?" 

"I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil,"  I  answered,  savagely. 

Lute  let  go  of  my  sleeve. 

"You — you — By  time,  you're  stark  loony !"  he  gasped ; 
and  collapsed  against  the  gate  post. 

I  went  into  the  house,  up  the  back  stairs  to  my  room, 
and  shut  the  door. 

60 


CHAPTER  V 

SO  she  was  his  daughter.  I  might  have  guessed  it ; 
would  have  guessed  it  if  I  had  possessed  the  com 
monest  of  common-sense.  I  might  have  known 
that  the  auto  was  Colton's.  No  other  machine  was  likely 
to  be  traveling  on  the  Lower  Road  at  that  season  of  the 
year.  She  was  the  pretty  daughter  of  whom  Dorinda 
had  spoken  to  Mother.  Well,  she  was  pretty  enough; 
even  I  had  to  admit  that.  But  I  admitted  it  grudgingly. 
I  hated  her  for  her  beauty  and  fine  clothes  and  haughty 
arrogance.  She  was  the  incarnation  of  snobbishness. 

But  to  be  made  twice  ridiculous  even  by  the  incarna 
tion  of  snobbishness  was  galling.  She  was  to  be  my 
next-door  neighbor ;  we  were  likely  to  meet  almost  any 
where  at  any  time.  When  I  thought  of  this  and  of  the 
two  meetings  which  had  already  taken  place  I  swore  at 
the  blue  and  white  water-pitcher  on  my  bureau  because 
it  did  not  contain  water  enough  to  drown  me.  Not  that 
I  would  commit  suicide  on  her  account.  She  would  not 
care  if  I  did  and  certainly  I  did  not  care  whether  she 
would  care  or  not;  but  if  I  were  satisfactorily  dead  I 
probably  should  not  remember  what  a  fool  I  had  made  of 
myself,  or  Fate  had  made  of  me. 

Why  had  I  not  got  out  of  that  library  before  she 
came?  Oh,  if  not,  why  hadn't  I  stayed  and  told  her 
father,  in  her  hearing,  and  with  dignity,  just  what  I 
thought  of  him  and  his  remarks  to  me?  But  no;  I  had 
run  away.  She — or  that  Victor — would  tell  of  the  meet- 

61 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ing  at  the  bridge,  and  all  my  independence  and  the  rest 
of  it  would  be  regarded  as  of  a  piece  with  that,  just  the 
big-headed  "smartness"  of  a  country  boor.  In  their  eyes 
I  was  a  nuisance,  that  was  all.  A  disagreeable  one,  per 
haps,  like  the  Shore  Lane,  but  a  nuisance,  one  to  laugh 
at  and  forget — if  it  could  not  be  gotten  rid  of. 

Why  had  I  gone  with  Colton  at  all?  Why  hadn't  I 
remained  at  the  boathouse  and  there  told  the  King  of 
New  York  to  go  to  the  mischief?  or  words  to  that  ef 
fect.  But  I  had,  at  all  events,  told  him  that.  In  spite  of 
my  chagrin  I  could  not  help  chuckling  as  I  thought  of  it. 
To  tell  Big  Jim  Colton  to  go  to  the  devil  was,  in  its  way, 
I  imagined,  a  privilege  enjoyed  by  few.  It  must  have 
shaken  his  self-satisfaction  a  trifle.  Well,  after  all,  what 
did  I  care?  He,  and  his  whole  family — including  Vic 
tor — had  my  permission  to  migrate  in  that  direction  and 
I  wished  Old  Nick  joy  of  their  company. 

Having  derived  this  much  satisfaction  from  my  re 
flections,  I  went  downstairs.  Dorinda  was  setting  the 
table  for  supper.  She  looked  at  me  as  I  came  in. 

"Been  visitin',  I  hear,"  she  observed,  wiping  an  imag 
inary  speck  from  the  corner  of  a  plate  with  her  "after 
noon"  apron. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"Um-hm,"  said  Dorinda.     "Have  a  good  time?" 

I  smiled.    "I  had  an  interesting  one,"  I  told  her. 

"Um-hm,  I  judged  so,  from  what  Lute  said." 

"Where  is  Lute?" 

"Out  in  the  barn,  beddin'  down  the  horse.  That  is,  I 
told  him  to  do  that,  but  his  head  was  so  full  of  you 
and  what  you  told  him  you  said  to  Mr.  Colton  that  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he's  bedded  down  the  hens 
and  was  huntin'  in  the  manger  for  eggs." 

"Lute  thinks  I've  gone  crazy,"  I  observed. 

62 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Um-hm.  He  was  all  for  fetchin'  the  doctor  right  off, 
but  I  told  him  I  cal'lated  we  could  bear  with  your  ravin's 
for  a  spell.  Did  you  say  what  he  said  you  said?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  did." 

"Um-hm.    Well,  it  didn't  do  any  good,  did  it?" 

"Good  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  he  didn't  obey  orders — Colton,  that  is." 

"He  hadn't  when  I  left." 

"I  thought  not.  I  never  saw  any  good  come  'irom  pro 
fane  language  yet;  and,  besides,  judgin'  from  what  I 
hear  about  the  way  that  Colton  man  lives,  and  what  he 
does  on  Sundays  and  all,  he'll  make  the  port  you  sent 
him  to  when  his  time  comes.  All  you  need  is  patience." 

I  laughed,  and  she  began  sorting  the  plated  spoons. 
We  had  silver  ones,  but  Dorinda  insisted  on  keeping  those 
to  use  when  we  had  company.  In  consequence  we  used 
them  about  twice  a  year,  when  the  minister  came. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "I  ain't  askin'  you  what  hap 
pened  over  there  or  why  he  wanted  to  see  you.  But  I 
give  you  fair  warnin'  that,  if  I  don't,  Lute  will.  Lute's 
so  stuffed  with  curiosity  that  he's  li'ble  to  bust  the 
stitches  any  minute." 

"I'll  tell  you  both,  at  supper,"  I  said. 

"Um-hm,"  said  Dorinda.  "Well,  I  can  wait,  and 
Lute'll  have  to.  By  the  way,"  she  added,  seeing  me 
about  to  enter  Mother's  room,  "if  it's  anything  too  un 
pleasant  I  wouldn't  worry  Comfort  with  it.  She'll  want 
to  know,  of  course,  but  I'd  sort  of  smooth  the  edges." 

Mother  did  want  to  know,  and  I  told  her,  "smoothing 
the  edges"  all  I  could.  I  omitted  my  final  order  to 
"Big  Jim"  and  I  said  nothing  whatever  about  his  daugh 
ter.  Mother  seemed  to  think  I  had  done  right  in  re 
fusing  to  sell,  though,  as  usual,  she  was  ready  to  make 
allowances  for  the  other  side. 

63 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Poor  woman,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  the  noise  of  the 
wagons  and  all  that  are  annoying  to  any  one  with  weak 
nerves.  It  must  be  dreadful  to  be  in  that  condition.  I 
am  so  sorry  for  her." 

She  meant  it,  too.  But  I,  remembering  the  Colton 
mansion,  what  I  had  seen  of  it,  and  contrasting  its 
splendor  with  the  bare  necessity  of  that  darkened  bed 
room,  found  it  hard  to  spare  pity  for  the  sufferer  from 
"nerves." 

"You  needn't  be,"  I  said,  bitterly.  "I  imagine  she 
wouldn't  think  of  you,  if  the  conditions  were  reversed. 
I  doubt  if  she  thinks  of  any  one  but  herself." 

"You  shouldn't  say  that,  Roscoe.  You  don't  know. 
You  have  never  met  her." 

"I  have  met  the  rest  of  the  family.  No,  Mother,  I 
think  you  needn't  be  sorry  for  that  woman.  She  has 
everything  under  the  sun.  Whereas  you " 

"Hush!  hush!  There  is  one  thing  she  hasn't  got. 
She  hasn't  a  son  like  you,  Boy." 

"Humph !  That  must  be  a  terrible  deprivation.  There ! 
there !  Mother,  I  won't  be  disagreeable.  Let's  change 
the  subject.  Did  Matilda  Dean  come  to  see  you  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"No.  I  presume  she  was  too  busy.  But,  Roscoe,  it 
is  plain  enough  why  Captain  Dean  spoke  to  you  about 
the  Lane  at  the  office  this  morning.  He  must  have 
heard,  somehow,  that  Mr.  Colton  wished  to  buy  it." 

"Yes.  Or,  if  he  didn't  hear  just  that,  he  heard  enough 
to  make  him  guess  the  rest.  He  is  pretty  shrewd." 

"You  promised  him  you  wouldn't  sell  without  telling 
him  beforehand.  Shall  you  tell  him  of  Mr.  Colton's 
offer?" 

"If  he  asks  me,  I  shall,  I  suppose." 

"I  wonder  what  he  will  do  then.  Do  you  suppose 

64 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

he  will  try  to  persuade  the  Selectmen  to  buy  the  Lane 
for  the  town?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"It  will  be  harder  to  refuse  the  town's  offer." 

"Yes.  Although  the  town  can't  afford  to  pay  Col- 
ton's  prices.  I  believe  that  man  would  have  raised  his 
bid  to  a  thousand,  if  I  had  let  him.  As  a  matter  of  busi 
ness  and  nothing  else,  I  suppose  I  am  foolish  not  to 
push  the  price  as  high  as  possible  and  then  sell.  The 
land  is  worthless  to  us." 

"I  know.  But  this  isn't  just  a  matter  of  business,  is 
it?  And  we  don't  need  the  money.  We're  not  rich,  but 
we  aren't  poor,  are  we,  Boy." 

"No.  No,  of  course  not.  But,  Mother,  just  see  what 
I  could  do — for  you — with  a  thousand  dollars.  Why, 
there  are  so  many  little  things,  little  luxuries,  that  you 
need." 

"I  had  rather  not  get  them  that  way.  No,  Roscoe,  I 
wouldn't  sell  to  Mr.  Colton.  And  I  think  I  wouldn't 
sell  to  the  town  either." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  because  we  don't  have  to  sell,  and  selling  to 
either  party  would  make  ill-feeling.  I  should — of  course 
I'm  only  a  woman ;  you  are  a  man  and  know  much  more 
about  such  things  than  I — but  why  not  let  matters  stay 
just  as  they  are?  The  townspeople  can  use  the  Lane, 
just  as  they  have  always  done,  and,  as  I  told  you  before, 
every  one  has  been  so  kind  to  us  that  I  like  to  feel  we 
are  doing  a  little  in  return.  Let  them  use  the  Lane, 
without  cost.  Why  not?" 

"What  do  you  think  the  Coltons  would  say  to  that?" 

"Perhaps  they  don't  understand  the  real  situation. 
The  next  time  you  see  Mr.  Colton  you  could  explain 
more  fully;  tell  him  what  the  Lane  means  to  the  town, 

65 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

and  so  on.  I'm  sure  he  would  understand,  if  you  told 
him  that.  And  then,  if  the  sight  of  the  wagons  was 
too  annoying,  he  could  put  up  some  kind  of  a  screen, 
or  plant  a  row  of  fir  trees  by  the  fence.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

I  imagined  the  great  man's  reply  to  such  a  suggestion. 
However,  I  did  not  express  my  thoughts.  I  told  Mother 
not  to  worry,  I  was  sure  everything  would  be  all  right, 
and,  as  Dorinda  called  me  to  supper,  I  went  into  the 
dining-room. 

Lute  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  table,  and  Dorinda, 
after  taking  the  tray  into  Mother's  room,  joined  us. 
Lute  was  so  full  of  excitement  and  curiosity  that  he 
almost  forgot  to  eat,  a  miracle  of  itself  and  made  greater 
by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  ask  a  single  question  until 
his  wife  asked  one  first.  Then  he  asked  three  in  succes 
sion.  Dorinda,  who  was  quite  as  curious  as  he  but  would 
not  have  shown  it  for  the  world,  stopped  him  at  the 
beginning  of  the  fourth. 

"There!  there!"  she  said,  sharply,  "this  is  supposed 
to  be  a  meal,  not  a  parrot  shop,  and  we're  humans,  not  a 
passel  of  birds  on  a  telegraph  wire  all  hollerin'  at  once. 
Drink  your  tea  and  stop  your  cawin',  Lute  Rogers.  Ros'll 
tell  us  when  he  gets  ready.  What  did  Mr.  Colton  want 
of  you,  Roscoe?" 

I  told  them  as  much  of  the  interview  at  the  Coltons' 
as  I  thought  necessary  they  should  know.  Lute  kept 
remarkably  quiet,  for  him,  until  I  named  the  figure  of 
fered  by  the  millionaire.  Then  he  could  hold  in  no 
longer. 

"Five  hundred!"  he  repeated.  "Five  hundred  dollars 
for  the  Shore  Lane !  Five " 

"He  raised  it  to  six  hundred  and  fifty  before  I  left," 
I  said. 

66 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

hundred!  Six  hundred — and  fifty!  For  the 
Shore  Lane!  Six  hun " 

"Sshh!  shh!"  cut  in  Dorinda.  "You  sound  like  Sim 
Eldredge  sellin'  somethin'  at  auction.  Do  be  quiet !  And 
you  told  him,  Roscoe ?" 

"I  told  you  what  I  told  him,"  I  said. 

"Um-hm.  I  ain't  forgot  it.  Be  quiet,  Lute.  Well, 
Roscoe,  I  cal'late  you  know  your  own  affairs  best,  but, 
judgin'  from  some  hints  Matildy  Dean  hove  out  when 
she  was  here  this  afternoon,  I  don't  believe  you've  heard 
the  last  from  that  Shore  Lane." 

"Matilda  Dean!"  I  repeated.  "Why,  Mother  said 
Matilda  wasn't  here  to-day." 

"Um-hm.  Well,  she  was  here,  though  Comfort  didn't 
know  it.  I  took  pains  she  shouldn't.  Matildy  come 
about  three  o'clock,  in  the  buggy,  along  with  Nellie. 
Nellie  was  doin'  the  drivin',  of  course,  and  her  mother 
was  tellin'  her  how,  as  usual.  I  don't  wonder  that  girl 
is  such  a  meek,  soft-spoken  kind  of  thing.  Between 
her  pa's  bullyin'  and  her  ma's  tongue,  it's  a  wonder  she's 
got  any  spirit  left.  It  would  be  a  mercy  if  George  Tay 
lor  should  marry  her  and  take  her  out  of  that  house. 
Matildy  had  a  new  book  on  Spiritu'lism  and  she  was 
figgerin'  to  read  some  of  it  out  loud  to  Comfort,  but  I 
headed  her  off.  I  know  /  wouldn't  want  to  be  all  stirred 
up  about  'tests'  and  'materializations'  and  such,  and  so 
I  told  her  Comfort  was  asleep." 

"She  wasn't  asleep,  neither,"  declared  Lute.  "What 
did  you  tell  such  a  whopper  as  that  for?  You're  always 
sailin'  into  me  if  I  stretch  a  yarn  the  least  mite.  Why, 
last  April  Fool  Day  you  give  me  Hail  Columby  for  jokin' 
you  about  a  mouse  under  the  kitchen  table.  Called  me 
all  kinds  of  names,  you  did — after  you  got  down  off  the 
table." 

67 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

His  wife  regarded  him  scornfully.  "It's  pretty  hard 
to  remember  which  is  that  partic'lar  day  with  you 
around,"  she  said.  "I'd  told  Comfort  she'd  ought  to  take 
a  nap  and  if  she  wan't  takin'  it  'twan't  my  fault.  I  wan't 
goin'  to  have  her  seein'  her  granddad's  ghost  in  every 
corner.  But,  anyhow,  Matildy  made  a  little  call  on  me, 
and,  amongst  the  million  other  things  she  said,  was  some- 
thin'  about  Cap'n  Jed  hearin'  that  Mr.  Colton  was  cal'- 
latin'  to  shut  off.  that  Lane.  Matildy  hinted  that  her 
husband  and  the  Selectmen  might  have  a  little  to  say 
afore  'twas  closed.  If  that's  so  I  guess  you  may  hear 
from  him  as  well  as  the  Colton  man,  Roscoe." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said.  I  could  see  no  use  in  repeating  my 
conversation  with  Captain  Jed. 

Dorinda  nodded. 

"Coin*  to  tell  the  town  to  go— where  you  sent  the 
other  one?"  she  asked,  dryly. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Humph !  Well,"  with  some  sarcasm,  "it  must  be  fine 
to  be  in  a  position  where  money's  no  object.  I  never 
tried  it,  myself,  but  it  sounds  good." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Um-hm,"  she  said.  "Well,  anyhow  it  looks  to  me — 
Lute,  you  keep  still — as  if  there  was  goin'  to  be  two 
parties  in  Denboro  afore  this  Lane  business  is  over. 
One  for  the  Coltons  and  one  against  'em.  You'll  have 
to  take  one  side  or  the  other,  won't  you,  Roscoe?" 

"Not  necessarily." 

"Goin'  to  set  on  the  fence,  hey?" 

"That's  a  good  place  to  sit,  isn't  it?" 

Dorinda  smiled,  grimly. 

"If  it's  the  right  kind  of  a  fence,  maybe  'tis,"  she 
observed.  "Otherwise  the  pickets  are  liable  to  make 
you  uncomf'table  after  a  spell,  I  presume  likely." 

68 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  went  out  soon  after  this,  for  my  evening  smoke  and 
walk  by  the  bluff.  As  I  left  the  dining-room  I  heard 
Lute  reiterating  his  belief  that  I  had  gone  crazy.  Col- 
ton  had  said  the  same  thing.  I  wondered  what  Captain 
Jed's  opinion  would  be. 

Whether  it  was  another  phase  of  my  insanity  or  not, 
I  don't  know,  but  I  woke  the  next  morning  in  pretty 
good  spirits.  Remembrance  of  the  previous  day's  hu 
miliations  troubled  me  surprisingly  little.  They  did  not 
seem  nearly  so  great  in  the  retrospect.  What  difference 
did  it  make  to  me  what  that  crowd  of  snobs  did  or  said 
or  thought? 

However,  there  was  just  enough  bitterness  in  my 
morning's  review  of  yesterday's  happenings  to  make  me 
a  little  more  careful  in  my  dress.  I  did  not  expect  to 
meet  my  aristocratic  neighbors — I  devoutly  wished  it 
might  be  my  good  luck  never  to  meet  any  of  them  again 
— but  in  making  selections  from  my  limited  wardrobe  I 
chose  with  more  thought  than  usual.  Dorinda  noticed 
the  result  when  I  came  down  to  breakfast. 

"Got  your  other  suit  on,  ain't  you,"  she  observed. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"Coin'  anywheres  special?" 

"No.    Down  to  the  boathouse,  that's  all." 

"Humph !  I  don't  see  what  you  put  those  blue  pants 
on  for.  They're  awful  things  to  show  water  spots.  Did 
you  leave  your  brown  ones  upstairs?  Um-hm.  Well, 
I'll  get  at  'em  some  time  to-day.  I  noticed  they  was 
wearin'  a  little,  sort  of,  on  the  bottoms  of  the  legs." 

I  had  noticed  it,  too,  and  this  reminder  confirmed 
my  suspicions  that  others  had  made  the  same  observa 
tions. 

"I'll  try  and  mend  'em  this  afternoon,"  went  on  Do 
rinda,  "if  I  can  find  time.  But,  for  mercy's  sake,  don't 

69 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

spot  those  all  up,  for  I  may  not  get  time,  and  then  you'd 
have  to  wear  your  Sunday  ones." 

I  promised,  curtly,  to  be  careful,  and,  after  saying 
good  morning  to  Mother,  I  went  down  to  the  boathouse 
and  set  to  work  on  the  engine.  It  was  the  only  thing 
in  the  nature  of  work  that  I  had  to  do,  but,  somehow 
or  other,  I  did  not  feel  like  doing  it  any  more  than  I 
had  the  day  before.  A  little  of  my  good  spirits  were 
wearing  off,  like  the  legs  of  my  "other"  trousers,  and 
after  an  hour  of  intermittent  tinkering  I  threw  down 
the  wrench  and  decided  to  go  for  a  row.  The  sun  was 
shining  brightly,  but  the  breeze  was  fresh,  and,  as  my 
skiff  was  low  in  the  gunwale  and  there  was  likely  to 
be  some  water  flying,  I  put  on  an  old  oilskin  "slicker"  and 
sou-wester  before  starting. 

I  had  determined  to  row  across  the  bay  over  to  the 
lighthouse,  and  ask  Ben  Small,  the  keeper,  if  there  were 
any  signs  of  fish  alongshore.  The  pull  was  a  long  one, 
but  I  enjoyed  every  stroke  of  it.  The  tide  was  almost 
full,  just  beginning  to  ebb,  so  there  was  scarcely  any 
current  and  I  could  make  a  straight  cut  across,  instead 
of  following  the  tortuous  channel.  My  skiff  was  a  flat 
bottomed  affair,  drawing  very  little,  but  in  Denboro  bay, 
at  low  tide,  even  a  flat-bottomed  skiff  has  to  beware 
of  sand  and  eel-grass. 

Small  was  busy  whitewashing,  but  he  was  glad  to  see 
me.  If  you  keep  a  lighthouse,  the  average  lighthouse, 
you  are  glad  to  see  anybody.  He  put  his  brush  into 
the  pail  and  insisted  on  my  coming  to  the  house,  because 
"the  old  woman/'  his  wife,  would  want  to  hear  "all  the 
sewin'  circle  news."  "It's  the  biggest  hardship  of  her 
life,"  said  Ben,  "that  she  has  to  miss  sewin'  circle  when 
the  bay  ices  in.  Soon's  it  clears  she's  at  me  to  row  her 
acrost  to  the  meetin's.  I've  took  her  to  two  this  spring, 

70 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

but  she  missed  the  last  one,  on  account  of  this  white 
washing  and  she's  crazy  to  know  who's  been  talked  about 
now.  If  anything  disgraceful  has  happened  for  the  land 
sakes  tell  her;  then  she'll  be  more  reconciled." 

I  had  nothing  disgraceful  to  tell,  but  Mrs.  Small  was 
glad  to  see  me,  nevertheless.  She  brought  out  dough 
nuts  and  beach-plum  jelly  and  insisted  on  my  sampling 
both,  the  doughnuts  because  they  were  just  made  and  she 
"mistrusted"  there  was  too  much  flour  in  them,  and  the 
jelly  because  it  was  some  she  had  left  over  and  she 
wanted  to  see  if  I  thought  it  was  "keepin'  "  all  right. 
After  this,  Ben  took  me  out  to  see  his  hens,  and  then  we 
walked  to  the  back  of  the  beach  and  talked  fish.  The 
forenoon  was  almost  gone  when  I  got  back  to  the  skiff. 
The  tide  had  ebbed  so  far  that  the  lightkeeper  and  I 
had  to  pull  the  little  boat  twenty  feet  to  launch  her. 

"There !"  said  Ben,  "now  you're  afloat,  ain't  you. 
Cal'late  you'll  have  to  go  way  'round  Robin  Hood's 
barn  to  keep  off  the  flats.  I  forgot  about  the  tide  or  I 
wouldn't  have  talked  so  much.  Hello!  there's  another 
craft  about  your  size  off  yonder.  Somebody  else  out 
rowin'.  Two  somebodys.  My  eyes  ain't  as  good  for 
pickin'  'em  out  as  they  used  to  be,  but  one  of  'em  is 
a  female,  ain't  it?" 

I  looked  over  my  shoulder,  as  I  sat  in  the  skiff  and 
saw,  out  in  the  middle  of  the  bay,  another  rowboat  with 
two  people  in  it. 

"That  ain't  a  dory  or  a  skiff,"  shouted  Ben,  raising  his 
voice  as  I  pulled  away  from  him.  "Way  she  sets 
out  of  water  I'd  call  her  a  lap-streak  dingy.  If  that 
feller's  takin'  his  girl  out  rowin'  he'll  have  to  work  his 
passage  home  against  this  tide  .  .  .  Well,  so  long, 
Ros.  Come  again." 

I  nodded  a  goodby,  and  settled  down  for  my  long  row, 

71 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

a  good  deal  longer  this  time  on  account  of  the  ebhu 
There  was  water  enough  on  this  side  of  the  bay,  but  on 
the  village  side  the  channel  made  a  wide  detour  and  I 
should  be  obliged  to  follow  it  for  nearly  a  mile  up  the 
bay,  before  turning  in  behind  the  long  sand  bar  which 
made  out  from  the  point  beyond  my  boathouse. 

The  breeze  had  gone  down,  which  made  rowing  easier, 
but  the  pull  of  the  tide  more  than  offset  this  advantage. 
However,  I  had  mastered  that  tide  many  times  before 
and,  except  that  the  delay  might  make  me  late  for  din 
ner,  the  prospect  did  not  trouble  me.  I  swung  into  the 
channel  and  set  the  skiff's  bow  against  the  current.  Then 
from  the  beach  I  had  just  left  I  heard  a  faint  hail.  Turn 
ing  my  head,  I  saw  Ben  Small  waving  his  arms.  He 
was  shouting  something,  too,  but  I  was  too  far  away  to 
catch  the  words. 

The  lightkeeper  continued  to  shout  and  wave.  I  lifted 
an  oar  to  show  that  he  had  my  attention.  He  recognized 
the  signal,  and  began  pointing  out  over  the  water  astern 
of  me.  I  looked  where  he  was  pointing.  I  could  not  see 
anything  out  of  the  ordinary.  Except  for  my  own  skiff 
and  the  gulls,  and  the  row  boat  with  the  two  persons 
in  it  there  was  nothing  astir  on  the  bay.  But  Ben  kept 
on  waving  and  pointing.  At  last  I  decided  that  it  must 
be  the  row  boat  he  was  pointing  at.  I  stopped  rowing 
and  looked. 

The  row  boat  was  a  good  distance  off  and  its  occu 
pants  were  but  specks.  Now  one  of  the  specks  stood  up 
and  waved  its  arms.  So  far  as  I  could  see,  the  boat  was 
drifting ;  there  were  no  flashes  of  sunlight  on  wet  blades 
to  show  that  the  oars  were  in  use.  No,  it  was  drifting, 
and,  as  I  looked,  it  swung  broadside  on.  The  standing 
figure  continued  to  wave  its  arms. 

Those  people  must  be  in  trouble  of  some  sort,  I  de- 

72 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

cided,  and  it  was  evident  that  Small  thought  so,  too. 
There  could  no  imminent  danger  threaten  for,  on  a  day 
like  this,  with  no  sea  running,  there  was  nothing  to 
fear  in  the  bay.  If,  however,  they  should  drift 
out  of  the  bay  it  might  be  unpleasant.  And  they  cer 
tainly  were  drifting.  I  resigned  myself  to  the  indefinite 
postponement  of  my  dinner,  swung  the  skiff  about, 
and  pulled  as  hard  as  I  could  in  the  direction  of  the  row 
boat. 

With  the  tide  to  help  me  I  made  good  progress,  but, 
even  at  that,  it  took  me  some  time  to  overtake  the  drift 
ing  craft.  She  was,  as  Ben  had  said,  a  lap-streaked,  keel- 
bottomed  dingy — good  enough  as  a  yacht's  tender  or  in 
deep  water,  but  the  worst  boat  in  the  world  to  row 
about  Denboro  bay  at  low  tide.  Her  high  rail  caught 
what  breeze  there  was  blowing  and  this  helped  to  push 
her  along.  However,  I  got  within  easy  hailing  dis 
tance  after  a  while  and  called,  over  my  shoulder,  to  ask 
what  was  the  matter. 

A  man's  voice  answered  me. 

"We've  lost  an  oar,"  he  shouted.  "We're  drifting  out 
to  sea.  Lend  us  a  hand,  will  you  ?" 

"All  right,"  I  answered.     "Ill  be  there  in  a  minute." 

Within  the  minute  I  was  almost  alongside.  Then  I 
turned,  intending  to  speak  again;  but  I  did  not.  The 
two  persons  in  the  dingy  were  Victor — I  did  not  know 
his  other  name — and  Mabel  Colton. 

I  was  wearing  the  oilskin  slicker  and  had  pulled  down 
the  brim  of  my  sou'wester  to  keep  the  sun  from  my 
eyes ;  therefore  they  had  not  recognized  me  before.  And 
I,  busy  at  the  oars  and  looking  over  my  shoulder  only 
occasionally,  had  not  recognized  them.  Now  the  recogni 
tion  was  mutual.  Miss  Colton  spoke  first. 

"Why,  Victor!"  she  said,  "it  is " 

73 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"What?"  asked  her  companion.  Then,  looking  at  me, 
"Oh!  it's  you,  is  it?" 

I  did  not  answer.  Luck  was  certainly  against  me. 
No  matter  where  I  went,  on  land  or  water,  I  was  fated 
to  meet  these  two. 

Victor,  apparently,  was  thinking  the  same  thing.  "By 
Jove !"  he  observed ;  "Mabel,  we  seem  destined  to  ... 
Humph !  Well  ?  Will  you  give  us  a  hand  ?" 

The  most  provoking  part  of  it  was  that,  if  I  had  known 
who  was  in  that  rowboat,  I  could  have  avoided  the  en 
counter.  Ben  Small  could  have  gone  to  their  rescue 
just  as  well  as  I.  However,  here  I  was,  and  here  they 
were.  And  I  could  not  very  well  go  away  and  leave 
them,  under  the  circumstances. 

Victor's  patience  was  giving  way. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  he  demanded.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  help  us?  We'll  pay  you  for  it." 

I  pulled  the  skiff  a  little  closer  and,  drawing  in  my 
oars,  turned  and  picked  up  the  slack  of  my  anchor  rope. 

"Here,"  I  said,  brusquely;  "catch  this  line  and  I'll 
tow  you." 

I  tossed  him  the  loop  of  rope  and  he  caught  it. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  it?"  he  asked. 

"Hold  it,  just  as  it  is,  for  the  present.  What  became 
of  your  other  oar?" 

"Lost  it  overboard." 

"Why  didn't  you  throw  over  your  anchor  and  wait 
where  you  were?" 

I  think  he  had  not  thought  of  the  anchor,  but  he  did 
not  deign  to  explain.  Instead  he  began  pulling  on  the 
rope  and  the  two  boats  drew  together. 

"Don't  do  that,"  I  said.    "Wait." 

I  untied  the  rope,  where  it  was  made  fast  to  the  skiff's 
bow,  and  with  it  and  the  anchor  in  my  hands,  scrambled 

74 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

aft  and  wedged  the  anchor  under  the  stern  thwart  of 
the  little  craft. 

"Now,"  I  said,  "you  can  pull  in  the  slack  until  you  get 
to  the  end.  Then  make  it  fast  to  your  bow  somewhere." 

I  suppose  he  did  his  best  to  follow  instructions,  but 
the  rope  was  a  short  one,  the  end  jerked  loose  suddenly 
and  he  went  backward  in  a  heap.  I  thought,  for  an 
instant,  that  he  was  going  overboard  and  that  mine 
would  be  the  mixed  pleasure  of  fishing  him  out. 

Miss  Colton  gave  a  little  scream,  which  changed  to 
a  ripple  of  laughter.  I  might  have  laughed,  too,  under 
different  circumstances,  but  just  now  I  did  not  feel  like 
it.  Besides,  the  rope,  having  flown  out  of  his  hands,  was 
in  the  water  again  and  the  two  boats  were  drifting  apart. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  demanded  the  fallen 
one,  scrambling  to  his  knees.  I  heard  a  sound  from  the 
dingy's  stern  as  if  the  young  lady  was  trying  to  stifle 
her  merriment.  Victor,  doubtless,  heard  it,  too. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  sputtered,  angrily.  "Give 
me  that  rope." 

I  gave  it  to  him,  literally  gave  it,  for  I  pulled  alongside 
and  put  the  end  in  his  hands. 

"Tie  it  in  the  bow  of  your  boat,"  I  said.  He  did  so. 
I  drew  in  the  slack  until  a  fair  towing  length  remained 
and  made  it  fast.  While  he  was  busy  I  ventured  to  glance 
at  Miss  Colton.  Her  eyes  were  snapping  with  fun  and 
she  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  situation.  But,  catching 
my  look,  her  expression  changed.  She  turned  away 
and  looked  indifferently  out  to  sea. 

I  swung  the  skiff's  bow  around. 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go?"  I  asked. 

Victor  answered.  "Back  to  Mr.  Colton's  landing," 
he  said.  "Get  as  much  of  a  move  on  as  you  can,  will 
you?  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

75 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  was  as  anxious  to  get  there  as  he  was.  I  did  not 
care  for  a  quarrel,  and  I  knew  if  he  continued  to  use 
that  tone  in  his  remarks  to  me  I  should  answer  as  I 
felt.  I  pulled  with  all  my  strength,  but  against  the  tide 
towing  was  hard  work. 

Victor  sat  on  the  amidships  thwart  of  the  dingy,  with 
his  back  to  me.  But  Miss  Colton,  seated  in  the  stern, 
was  facing  me  and  I  could  not  help  looking  at  her. 
She  did  not  look  at  me,  or,  if  she  did,  it  was  as  if  I  were 
merely  a  part  of  the  view;  nothing  to  be  interested  in, 
one  way  or  the  other. 

She  was  beautiful ;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  Pret 
tier  even,  in  the  blue  and  white  boating  costume  and 
rough-and-ready  white  felt  hat,  than  she  had  seemed 
when  I  saw  her  in  the  auto  or  her  father's  library.  She 
represented  the  world  that  I  had  lost.  I  had  known  girls 
like  her.  They  had  not  as  much  money  as  she,  perhaps, 
but  they  were  just  as  well-bred  and  refined,  and  almost 
as  pretty.  I  had  associated  with  them  as  an  equal.  I 
wondered  what  she  would  say,  or  think,  if  she  knew 
that.  Nothing,  probably;  she  would  not  care  enough 
to  think  at  all.  It  did  not  matter  to  me  what  she  thought ; 
but  I  did  wish  I  had  not  put  on  those  fool  oilskins.  I 
must  look  more  like  a  country  longshoreman  than  ever. 

If  I  had  any  doubts  about  it  they  were  dispelled  when 
I  had  rowed  the  two  boats  up  the  bay  until  we  were 
abreast  the  Colton  mansion.  Then  Victor,  who  had 
been  talking  in  a  low  tone  with  his  fellow  passenger 
in  the  dingy,  looked  at  the  distant  shore  and,  over  his 
shoulder,  at  me. 

"Here !"  he  shouted.  "Where  are  you  going  ?  That's 
the  landing  over  there." 

"I  know,"  I  answered.  "But  we  shall  have  to  go 
around  that  flat.  We  can't  cross  here," 

76 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why?    What's  the  reason  we  can't?" 

"Because  there  isn't  water  enough.  We  should  get 
aground." 

He  stood  up  to  look. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said.  "There's  plenty  of  water.  I 
can't  see  any  flat,  or  whatever  you  call  it." 

"It's  there,  though  you  can't  see  it.  It  is  covered  with 
eelgrass  and  doesn't  show.  We  shall  have  to  go  a  half 
mile  further  before  we  turn  in." 

"A  half  mile !  Why,  confound  it !  it's  past  one  o'clock 
now.  We  haven't  any  time  to  waste." 

"I'm  sorry,  but  we  can't  cross  yet.  And,  if  I  were  you, 
I  shouldn't  stand  up  in  that  boat." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  this  suggestion. 

"There  are  half  a  dozen  boats,  bigger  than  these, 
by  the  landing,"  he  declared.  "There  is  water  enough 
for  them.  What  are  you  afraid  of?  We  haven't  any 
time  to  waste,  I  tell  you." 

I  did  not  answer.  Silence,  on  my  part,  was  the  safest 
thing  just  then.  I  continued  rowing  up  the  bay. 

Miss  Colton  spoke  to  him  and  he  sat  down,  a  pro 
ceeding  for  which  I  was  thankful.  They  whispered  to 
gether  for  a  moment.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"See  here,"  he  said;  "this  lady  and  I  have  an  ap 
pointment.  We  must  get  ashore.  Go  straight  in.  If 
you're  afraid  I'll  take  the  risk.  If  there  is  any  danger 
I'll  pay  for  that,  too." 

There  was  no  question  of  risk.  It  was  a  certainty.  I 
knew  that  channel. 

"We  can't  cross  here,"  I  said,  shortly. 

"Why,  confound  you " 

"Victor!"  cautioned  Miss  Colton. 

"Hush,  Mabel!  This  is  ridiculous.  You  and  I  saw 
two  boats  go  straight  out  from  the  beach  this  morn- 

77 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ing.  We  went  out  that  way  ourselves.  Here  you — 
Paine,  or  whatever  your  name  is — we've  had  enough  of 
this.  I've  hired  you  to  take  us  ashore,  and  I  want  to  go 
there  and  not  a  half  mile  in  another  direction.  Will  you 
do  as  I  tell  you?" 

When  the  dingy  and  the  other  boats  crossed  the 
flat  the  tide  had  been  hours  higher,  of  course ;  but  I  was 
in  no  mood  to  explain — to  him. 

"No,"  I  said,  shortly. 

"You  won't?  Then  you  give  me  an  oar  and  I'll  row 
the  rest  of  the  way  myself." 

There  were  only  two  oars  in  the  skiff,  but  I  could  get 
on  perfectly  well  with  one.  And  it  would  serve  him 
beautifully  right  to  let  him  go.  But  there  was  the  girl. 
I  hesitated. 

"Give  me  that  oar,"  he  repeated,  angrily.  "You  won't  ? 
Then,  by  Jove,  I'll  do  without  it.  Stop!  Stop  where 
you  are !  do  you  understand.  We  don't  require  your 
services  any  longer." 

He  turned  and  began  untying  the  tow  line.  I  stopped 
rowing. 

Miss  Colton  looked  troubled. 

"Victor!"  she  cried.    "What  are  you  doing?" 

"I  know  what  I'm  doing.  Can't  you  see  this  fel 
low's  game?  The  longer  the  row  the  higher  his 
price,  that's  all.  He  can't  work  me.  I've  seen  his  kind 
before.  Don't  be  frightened.  If  we  can't  do  anything 
else  we  can  anchor  and  wait  until  they  see  us  from  the 
house." 

Idiot!  At  that  point  the  channel  was  deep  and  the 
bottom  soft  mud.  I  doubted  if  his  anchor  would  touch 
and,  if  it  did,  I  knew  it  would  not  hold.  I  backed  water 
and  brought  the  skiff  alongside  the  dingy,  the  rail  of 
which  I  seized  and  held. 

78 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Keep  off!"  ordered  Victor,  still  fumbling  with  the 
rope.  "We  don't  want  your  help." 

I  wasted  no  breath  on  him.  I  addressed  my  remarks 
to  the  girl. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  "will  you  listen  to  me,  please. 
You  can't  anchor  here  because  your  anchor  will  not  hold. 
And  you  can't  cross  that  flat  at  this  stage  of  the  tide.  I 
can  give  you  an  oar,  of  course,  but  it  won't  do  any  good. 
My  oars  are  too  light  and  small  for  your  boat.  Unless 
you  wish  to  drift  back  where  you  were,  or  beyond,  you 
must  let  me  tow  you  around  the  head  of  this  flat." 

I  don't  know  what  answer  she  might  have  made. 
None,  perhaps;  although  I  am  sure  she  was  listening. 
But  Victor,  who  had  succeeded  in  untying  the  tow 
line,  cut  in  ahead  of  her. 

"Mabel,"  he  warned,  "don't  pay  any  attention  to  him. 
Didn't  your  father  tell  us  what  he  was  ?  There !"  throw 
ing  the  end  of  the  rope  overboard  and  addressing  me; 
"now,  you  may  clear  out.  We've  done  with  you. 
Understand  ?" 

I  looked  at  Miss  Colton.  But  I  might  as  well  have 
looked  at  an  iceberg.  I  slid  one  of  my  oars  over  into  the 
dingy. 

"There  you  are,"  I  said,  grimly.  "£ut  I  warn  you  that 
you're  in  for  trouble." 

I  let  go  of  the  rail  and  the  boats  fell  apart.  Victor 
seized  the  borrowed  oar  with  a  triumphant  laugh. 

"Your  bluff  wouldn't  work,  would  it,  Reuben,"  he 
sneered.  "I'll  send  you  the  oar  and  your  pay  later. 
Now,  Mabel,  sit  tight.  I'll  have  you  ashore  in  fifteen 
minutes." 

He  began  rowing  toward  the  weed-covered  flat.  I 
said  nothing.  I  was  furiously  angry  and  it  was  some 
moments  before  I  recovered  self-possession  sufficiently 

79 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

to  get  my  remaining  oar  over  the  skiff's  stern  and,  by 
sculling,  hold  her  against  the  tide.  Then  I  watched  and 
waited. 

It  was  not  a  long  wait.  Victor  was  in  difficulties  al 
most  from  the  beginning.  The  oar  belonging  to  the 
dingy  was  a  foot  longer  than  the  one  I  had  given  him 
and  he  zig-zagged  wildly.  Soon  he  was  in  the  edge  of 
the  eelgrass  and  "catching  crabs,"  first  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other.  The  dingy's  bow  slid  up  on  the  mud. 
He  stood  up  to  push  it  off,  and  the  stern  swung  around. 
Getting  clear,  he  took  a  fresh  start  and  succeeded  only  in 
fouling  again.  This  time  he  got  further  into  the  tangle 
before  he  grounded.  The  bow  rose  and  the  stern  set 
tled.  There  was  a  mighty  splashing,  as  Victor  pushed 
and  tugged,  but  the  dingy  stuck  fast.  And  there  she 
would  continue  to  stick  for  four  hours  unless  I,  or  some 
one  else,  helped  her  off. 

I  did  not  want  to  help.  In  fact,  I  looked  all  up  and 
down  the  bay  before  I  made  a  move.  But  it  was  dinner 
time  and  there  was  not  another  soul  afloat.  More  than 
that,  I  noticed,  as  I  had  not  noticed  before,  that  brown 
clouds — wind  clouds — were  piling  up  in  the  west,  and, 
if  I  was  anything  of  a  prophet,  we  would  have  squalls 
and  dirty  weather  long  before  those  four  hours  were 
over.  And  the  dingy,  in  that  position,  was  not  safe  to 
face  a  blow.  No,  as  the  small  boys  say,  it  was  "up  to 
me."  I  wished  it  was  not,  but  it  was. 

So  again  I  went  to  the  rescue,  but  this  time  in  an 
entirely  different  frame  of  mind.  My  anger  and  resent 
ment  had  settled  to  a  cold  determination,  and  this  trip 
was  purely  business.  I  was  not  at  a  disadvantage  now, 
as  I  had  been  when  I  first  met  that  girl  and  her  friend,  in 
"Big  Jim"  Colton's  library.  I  was  master  of  this  sit 
uation  and  master  I  intended  to  be. 

80 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  sculled  the  skiff  straight  in  to  the  edge  of  the  flat, 
at  a  point  where  the  bank  sloped  sharply  to  deep  water. 
I  threw  over  my  anchor,  shortened  the  rope  and  made 
it  fast.  Then  I  stepped  out  into  water  above  my  shoe 
tops  and  waded  toward  the  dingy.  The  water  was  icy 
cold,  but  I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time. 

I  splashed  through  the  eelgrass.  Victor  saw  me  com 
ing  and  roared  an  angry  protest.  He  was  still  trying 
to  push  the  boat  off  with  an  oar. 

"Here!"  he  shouted.  "You  keep  away.  We  don't 
want  you." 

I  did  not  care  what  he  wanted.  I  splashed  alongside 
the  dingy  and  looked  at  her  and  the  position  she  was 
in.  My  mind  was  made  up  instantly. 

"You'll  never  get  her  off  if  you  both  stay  aboard,"  I 
said.  "Let  the  lady  move  amidships  and  you  get  out 
and  wade." 

He  glared  at  me  as  if  I  were  as  crazy  as  Colton  or 
Lute  had  declared  me  to  be.  Then  he  laughed  con 
temptuously. 

"You  go  back  where  you  came  from,"  he  ordered. 
"I'm  running  this." 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  that.  Now  I'll  state  the  facts  as 
plainly  as  I  can.  This  boat  is  fast  aground  in  the  mud, 
the  tide  is  still  going  out,  and  there  are  squalls  coming. 
She  must  be  got  off  or  there  may  be  danger.  You 
can't  get  her  off  until  she  is  lightened.  Will  you  get  out 
and  wade?" 

He  did  not  answer;  instead  he  continued  to  push  with 
the  oar.  I  turned  to  the  girl. 

"Miss  Colton/'  I  said,  "I  must  ask  you  to  stand  up. 
Be  careful  when  you  rise." 

She  made  no  move,  nor  did  she  reply.  The  look  she 
gave  me  was  enough. 

81 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"You  must  stand  up,"  I  repeated,  firmly.  "Either 
your — this  gentleman — must  get  out,  as  I  tell  him  to,  or 
I  shall  have  to  carry  you  to  my  skiff.  We  haven't  any 
time  to  spare." 

She  gazed  at  me  in  blank  astonishment.  Then  the 
color  flamed  in  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"We  don't  wish  your  help,"  she  said,  icily. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  that  makes  no  difference.    I " 

Victor  whirled  on  me,  the  oar  in  his  hands.  I  thought 
for  an  instant  he  was  going  to  strike  me  with  it. 

"You  blackguard !"  he  shouted.    "Will  you  go  away  ?" 

I  looked  at  him  and  then  at  her.  It  had  to  be  done, 
and  my  mind  was  made  up  to  do  it.  I  waded  in  until 
the  water  was  almost  to  my  knees,  and  I  was  abreast  the 
stern  of  the  stranded  boat. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  to  carry  you  to 
my  skiff.  Are  you  ready?" 

"You— Why!— "  she  breathed. 

I  stooped,  lifted  her  in  my  arms,  and  ploughed  through 
the  weeds  and  water.  The  mud  was  soft  and  my  feet 
sank  into  it.  She  struggled. 

"You  must  keep  still,"  I  said,  sharply,  "or  I  shall  drop 
you." 

She  gasped,  but  she  stopped  struggling.  From  behind 
me  I  heard  a  roar  of  rage  from  Victor. 

I  carried  her  to  the  anchored  skiff  and,  plunging  in 
still  deeper,  seated  her  on  the  stern  thwart. 

"Sit  there,  please,  and  don't  move,"  I  said.  "I  shall 
be  back  as  soon  as  I've  got  your  boat  afloat." 

I  waded  back  to  the  dingy.  Victor  was  frantic,  but 
he  did  not  disturb  me.  The  worst  of  my  unpleasant  job 
was  over. 

"Now  sit  down,"  I  ordered.  "Do  you  hear  me?  Sit 
down  and  sit  still." 

82 


"All  the  way  home  I  kept  my  gaze  fixed  on  the  bottom 
boards  of  the  skiff." 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"You — you — "  he  stammered. 

"Because  if  you  don't  sit  down,"  I  continued  serenely, 
"you're  likely  to  tumble  overboard.  I'm  going  to  push 
this  boat  off." 

The  first  push  helped  to  make  up  his  mind.  He  sat,  in 
voluntarily.  I  pushed  with  all  my  might  and,  slowly 
and  jerkily,  the  dingy  slid  off  the  shoal.  But  there  were 
others  all  about.  With  one  hand  on  the  bow  I  guided 
her  between  them  and  to  the  edge  of  the  channel.  Then, 
wading  along  the  slippery  bank,  I  brought  her  to  the 
skiff.  My  passenger  had  been  making  remarks  in  tran 
sit,  but  I  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

I  made  the  rope  fast  for  towing,  took  my  oar  from 
the  dingy,  pulled  up  the  skiff's  anchor  and  climbed 
aboard. 

"Sit  where  you  are,"  I  said  to  Victor.  "Miss  Colton, 
please  keep  as  still  as  possible." 

I  ventured  to  look  at  her  as  I  said  this,  but  I  looked 
but  once.  All  the  way  home  I  kept  my  gaze  fixed  on 
the  bottom  boards  of  the  skiff. 

I  made  the  landing  just  in  time.  In  fact,  the  squall 
struck  before  I  was  abreast  the  Colton  place.  The  chan 
nel  beyond  the  flat,  which  we  had  so  lately  left,  was 
whipped  to  whitecaps  in  a  moment  and  miniature  break 
ers  were  beating  against  the  mud  bank  where  the  dingy 
had  grounded. 

Under  the  high  bluff  it  was  calm  enough.  The  tide 
was  too  low  to  make  use  of  the  little  wharf,  so  I  beached 
the  skiff  and  drew  the  towed  boat  in  by  the  line.  I  of 
fered  to  assist  Miss  Colton  ashore,  but  she,  apparently, 
did  not  see  my  proffered  hand.  Victor  scrambled  out  by 
himself.  No  one  said  anything.  I  untied  the  rope  and 
pulled  it  in.  Then  I  prepared  to  push  off. 

"Here!"  growled  Victor.    "Wait  a  minute." 

83 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  looked  up.  He  was  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket.  Miss  Colton  was 
behind  him. 

"Well?"  I  asked. 

"I  haven't  paid  you  yet,"  he  said,  sullenly.  "How 
much?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  asked.  I  knew,  of  course,  but 
it  pleased  me  to  make  him  say  it. 

"Why,  how  much  for  towing  us  in?  What's  your 
price?  Come,  hurry  up." 

"I  haven't  any  price.    I'm  not  in  the  salvage  business." 

"Not — Say,  don't  bargain.  What's  your  price,  I  ask 
you?" 

"Nothing,  of  course.  Very  glad  to  have  been  of  as 
sistance." 

I  took  up  my  oars. 

"Here !"  he  shouted.  "Stop !  hold  on !  Confound  you ! 
do  you  suppose  we  don't  intend  to  pay  you  for  this?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "It  has  been  a  pleasure,"  I  said, 
sweetly.  "Good  day." 

I  rowed  off,  but  all  the  way  down  to  my  boathouse  I 
smiled  contentedly.  I  had  seen  the  look  on  Mabel  Col- 
ton's  face.  I  rather  thought  I  had  evened  the  account 
between  us ;  at  least  I  had  reduced  the  balance  a  trifle. 
This  time  it  was  not  I  who  appeared  ridiculous. 

Dorinda  saw  me  when  I  entered  the  kitchen.  Her 
hands  were  upraised. 

"My  soul  and  body!"  she  exclaimed.  "Look  at  them 
pants !  Look  at  'em !  And  I  ain't  had  time  to  put  a 
needle  to  your  other  ones  yet !" 


84 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  rain,  which  I  expected  would  follow  the 
squall,  did  not  come  until  late  that  night,  and 
it  was  still  falling  heavily  the  next  morning. 
It  was  a  warm  rain,  however,  and,  after  breakfast,  I 
walked  up  to  the  village.  I  said  nothing,  even  to  Mother, 
about  the  happenings  in  the  bay,  and  Dorinda,  who  had 
asked  many  sarcastic  questions  concerning  the  state  of 
my  blue  trousers — if  I  had  "mistook  'em  for  a  bathin' 
suit"  and  the  like — seemed  satisfied  with  my  hurried 
explanation  that  I  had  gotten  overboard.  "Though  how 
you  fell  in  feet  fust,"  she  observed,  "I  don't  see."  She 
had  mended  my  brown  pair,  sitting  up  until  after  two 
to  do  so. 

Lute  informed  me  that  he  had  been  up  to  the  post- 
office.  "Everybody's  talkin'  about  them  Coltons,"  he 
declared.  "I  see  their  automobile  last  night,  myself.  The 
Colton  girl,  she  come  into  the  store.  My !  she's  a  stun 
ner,  ain't  she !  Sim  waited  on  her,  himself,  and  gave  her 
the  mail.  She  wanted  to  buy  some  cheese — for  a  rabbit, 
she  said.  I  never  heard  of  feeding  a  rabbit  on  cheese, 
did  you,  Ros  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  laughing.  It  was  not  worth  while 
to  explain. 

"Nor  nobody  else,  but  her!  I  guess,"  continued  Lute, 
"likely  she  was  just  jokin'.  Anyhow,  Sim  was  all  out 
of  cheese,  but  he  had  some  nice  print  butter,  just  in. 
She  didn't  want  no  butter,  though." 

85 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Humph !"  sniffed  Dorinda.  "Did  Sim  Eldredge  car- 
late  she  wanted  to  feed  the  rabbit  butter?  Was  the 
Colton  girl  alone?" 

"No.  There  was  a  young  feller  with  her ;  the  one  that's 
visitin'  'em.  Carver  his  name  is — Victor  Carver.  Did 
you  ever  hear  such  a  name  in  your  life?  Afore  I'd 
name  a  child  of  mine  Victor!" 

"Um-hm.  Well,  I  wouldn't  waste  time  worryin'  about 
that,  if  I  was  you.  Look  here,  Lute  Rogers,  you  didn't 
say  anything  about  Roscoe's  talk  with  Mr.  Colton,  did 
you?" 

"No,  no !  no,  no !    Course  I  didn't." 

"You  sure?" 

"Yes.  'Taint  likely  I  would,  would  I?  Cap'n  Jed 
was  on  hand,  as  usual,  and  he  was  full  of  questions,  but 
he  didn't  get  anything  out  of  me.  'What  did  Colton  say 
to  Ros?'  he  says.  'How  do  I  know  what  he  said?'  says 
I.  'I  wan't  there,  was  I?'  'Where  was  you  that  fore 
noon?'  he  says.  'Forenoon!'  says  I,  'that  shows  how 
much  you  know  about  it.  'Twas  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.'  Oh,  I  had  the  laugh  on  him !" 

Dorinda  looked  at  me  and  shook  her  head. 

"It's  too  bad,  Roscoe,"  she  said.  "But  I  was  afraid 
of  it  as  soon  as  I  found  he'd  sneaked  off  to  the  post- 
office.  I  cal'late  it's  all  over  town  by  now." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  Lute's  dignity  was  out 
raged.  "All  over  town !  I  never  told  him  nothin'." 

"No.  Only  that  Ros  and  Mr.  Colton  were  together  and 
'twas  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  And  goodness 
knows  how  much  more!  Do  be  quiet!  Seems  some 
times  as  if  I  should  lose  patience  with  you  altogether. 
Is  this  Carver  the  Colton  girl's  young  man?  Are  they 
engaged  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  he's  keepin'  company  with 

86 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

her,  by  the  looks.  I  got  as  nigh  to  'em  as  I  could,  but 
I  didn't  hear  much  they  said.  Only,  just  as  they  was 
goin'  out,  he  said  somethin'  about  goin'  for  a  little  spin 
in  the  car.  She  said  no,  her  father  would  want  his  let 
ters.  Carver,  he  said,  why  not  send  Oscar  home — that's 
the  chauffeur,  you  know — with  the  letters,  and  he'd  run 
the  car  himself.  She  kind  of  laughed,  and  said  she 
guessed  not,  she'd  taken  one  trip  with  him  already  that 
day  and  she  didn't  believe  she  cared  for  another.  He 
seemed  kind  of  put  out  about  it,  I  thought." 

I  had  been  feeling  rather  provoked  at  Lute  for  giving 
Captain  Jed  the  information  concerning  my  interview 
with  Colton;  but,  somehow,  this  other  bit  of  news  re 
stored  my  good  humor.  When  I  started  for  the  village  I 
did  not  take  the  short  cut  across  the  fields,  but  followed 
my  regular  route,  the  path  by  the  bluff  and  the  Shore 
Lane.  I  was  no  longer  fearful  of  meeting  my  new 
neighbors.  The  memory  of  the  happenings  in  the  bay 
was  a  delightful  solace  to  my  wounded  self-respect.  I 
chuckled  over  it  as  I  walked  through  the  dripping  pines 
of  the  little  grove.  No  matter  how  contemptuously  in 
different  that  girl  might  pretend  to  be  she  would  not 
forget  what  had  taken  place;  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  obey  my  orders ;  that  I  had  carried  her  to  that  skiff ; 
that  I  had  saved  her  from  a  danger — not  a  great  danger, 
and  against  her  will,  of  course — but  saved  her  never 
theless.  She  was  under  an  obligation  to  me;  she  could 
not  help  herself.  How  that  must  gall  her.  I  remem 
bered  the  look  on  her  face  as  I  rowed  away.  Sweet  was 
revenge.  And  Victor — Victor  was  a  joke. 

When  I  reached  the  Lane  I  looked  over  at  the  Colton 
mansion.  The  rain  had  given  the  carpenters  and  painters 
an  enforced  holiday,  and,  except  for  the  chauffeur,  whom 
I  could  see  through  the  open  door  of  the  garage,  there 

87 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  no  one  in  sight.  I  think  I  was  a  little  disappointed. 
If  "Big  Jim"  had  appeared  and  hailed  me  with  another 
offer  for  the  land  I  should  not  have  dodged.  I  was 
ready  for  him.  But  neither  he,  or  any  one  else,  ap 
peared  and  I  walked  on. 

At  the  Corners,  Sim  Eldredge  shouted  to  me  from  the 
platform  of  his  store. 

"Hi,  Ros !"  he  shouted.  "You !  Ros  Paine !  come  here 
a  minute,  will  you?" 

I  did  not  want  to  see  him.  I  had  intended  avoiding 
the  post-office  altogether.  But  I  crossed  to  the  platform. 

"Say,  Ros,"  he  asked  eagerly,  "what's  this  about  you 
and  Mr.  Colton?" 

I  was  annoyed. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  you  know,  don't  you  ?  He  come  to  see  you  and 
you  went  to  see  him  over  to  his  house.  You  had  a  reg'- 
lar  argument,  I  understand.  About  the  Shore  Lane, 
wan't  it?" 

"Who  told  you  that?"  I  inquired,  sharply. 

"Why,  nobody  told  me,  exactly.  Lute  Rogers  and 
Cap'n  Jed  was  here  last  night  and  they  got  a-goin'  as 
usual.  The  Cap'n  does  love  to  stir  up  Lute,  and  he  com 
menced  hintin'  about  somethin'  of  the  kind.  I  don't 
know  as  they  was  hints,  either,  but  Lute  thought  they 
was." 

He  grinned.    I  understood. 

"I  see,"  I  said.    "Well,  what  did  Lute  say?" 

"I  suppose  he'd  say  he  never  said  a  word,  but  after 
he'd  gone  there  was  a  kind  of  general  sentiment  that 
Colton  wanted  to  buy  the  Shore  Lane  land  off  you,  and 
that  you  and  he  had  some  words  about  it.  Anyhow,  you 
didn't  sell  the  land,  did  you?" 

"Suppose  I  did,  or  didn't ;  what  of  it  ?" 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why,  nothin',  nothin'.  Only,  I  tell  you,  Ros — "  he 
looked  carefully  about  to  make  sure  no  one  was  listening ; 
"I  tell  you;  it's  just  this  way.  I  can  understand  how 
you  feel  about  it.  You  know  Dean  and  some  of  the 
others  are  sore  on  Mr.  Colton  'cause  he's  got  more  money 
than  they  have,  and  they  want  to  make  all  the  trouble  for 
him  they  can.  Jed's  got  an  idea  that  he's  after  that  Lane, 
to  close  it  off,  and  he's  stirrin'  up  sentiment  against  its 
bein'  closed.  He's  talkin'  about  the  town  buyin'  it.  Now 
of  course  I  know  your  position.  You  want  to  get  just 
as  high  a  price  as  you  can  afore  you  sell." 

"That's  my  position,  is  it?" 

"It  would  be  the  position  of  any  sensible  man,  wouldn't 
it  ?  I  don't  blame  you.  Now,  what  I  wanted  to  say  was 
this."  He  bent  forward  and  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whis 
per.  "Why  don't  you  let  me  handle  this  thing  for  you? 
I  can  do  it  better'n  you.  I  see  Cap'n  Jed  every  night, 
you  might  say.  And  I  see  consider'ble  of  Mr.  Colton. 
He  knows  I'm  postmaster  in  this  town  and  sort  of  prom 
inent.  All  the  smart  folks  ain't  in  the  Board  of  Select 
men.  I'll  keep  you  posted;  see?  You  just  set  back  and 
pretend  you  don't  want  to  sell  at  all.  Colton,  he'll  bid 
and  Jed  and  his  gang'll  bid.  I'll  tell  each  what  the  other 
bids,  and  we'll  keep  her  jumpin'.  When  we  get  to  the 
last  jump,  we'll  sell — and  not  afore.  Of  course  Mr.  Col 
ton  '11  get  it,  in  the  end." 

"Oh,  he  will !    What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"What  makes  me  think  so?  Don't  be  foolish.  Ain't 
he  a  millionaire?  How  can  Denboro  stand  up  against 
a  millionaire?  I  tell  you,  Ros,  it's  money  counts  in  this 
world,  and  it  pays  to  stand  in  with  them  that's  got  it. 
I'm  goin'  to  stand  in  with  Mr.  Colton.  But  I'll  pretend 
to  stand  in  with  Dean  just  as  much.  I  can  help  a  whole 
lot.  Why,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if,  between  us,  we  could 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

get — er — er — I   don't  know  how  much,   for  that  land. 
What  do  you  say?" 

I  smiled.  "It's  very  kind  of  you,  Sim,  to  be  willing  to 
go  to  so  much  trouble  on  my  account,"  I  observed.  "I 
didn't  know  there  was  such  disinterested  kindness  in 
Denboro." 

Sim  seemed  a  bit  put  out.  "Why,"  he  stammered,  "I — 
I — of  course  I  presumed  likely  you'd  be  willin'  to  pay  me 
a  little  commission — or — or — somethin'.  I  thought  I 
might  be  a  sort  of — er — agent  for  you.  I've  handled 
consider'ble  real  estate  in  my  time — and — you  see  what 
I  mean,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  drily ;  "I  see.  Well,  Sim,  if  I  decide  to 
engage  an  agent  I'll  let  you  know.  Good  morning." 

"But,  hold  on,  Ros !    I " 

I  did  not  "hold  on."  I  walked  across  the  road  and  en 
tered  the  bank.  Alvin  Baker  met  me  in  the  vestibule. 
He  seized  my  hand  and  shook  it  violently. 

"I  declare,"  he  exclaimed,  "it  does  me  good  to  shake 
hands  with  a  feller  that's  got  the  grit  you  have.  It  does 
so !  We're  all  proud  of  you." 

"Much  obliged,  Alvin,  I'm  sure.    But  why?" 

He  winked  and  nudged  me  with  his  elbow. 

"You  know  why,  all  right,"  he  whispered.  "Wouldn't 
sell  him  the  land,  would  you  ?  Tell  me :  Did  he  make  you 
a  real  bid  for  it?  Lute  as  much  as  said  he  did." 

For  a  person  who  had  told  nothing,  Lute  seemed  to 
have  "as  much  as  said"  a  good  many  things.  I  shook 
my  head. 

"So  you  think  I  shouldn't  sell  the  land?"  I  asked. 

"Course  you  shouldn't — not  to  him.  Ain't  there  such 
things  as  public  spirit  and  independence?  But  I'll  tell 
you  somethin'  more,  Ros,"  mysteriously.  "You  may 
have  a  chance  to  sell  it  somewhere  else." 

90 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  sir-ee!  indeed!  There's  other  public-spirited 
folks  in  Denboro  as  well  as  you.  I  know  who  they  be 
and  I  stand  in  with  'em  pretty  close,  too.  I'm  goin'  to 
help  you  all  I  can." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,  Alvin." 

"No,  no.  I'm  glad  to  do  it.  Shan't  charge  you  nothin'; 
neither." 

"That's  kinder  still." 

"No,  'tain't.  .  .  Hold  on  a  minute,  Ros.  Don't  go. 
As  I  say,  I'm  goin'  to  work  tooth  and  nail  to  get  the 
town  to  buy  that  Lane  property  of  yours.  I'll  stick  out 
for  you're  gettin'  a  good  price  for  it.  I'll  use  all  my  in 
fluence." 

"Thank  you." 

"You  needn't  thank  me.  It's  a  matter  of  principle. 
We'll  show  these  city  folks  they  ain't  the  whole  ship, 
cargo  and  all.  .  .  .  Hold  on  a  second  more.  Ros, 
I — er — I  wonder  if  you'd  do  a  little  favor  for  me." 

"What  is  it,  Alvin?" 

"Why,  it's  this  way.  I've  got  a  note  here  in  the  bank ; 
put  it  there  when  I  bought  the  power  engine  for  my 
cat-boat.  Hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  'tis.  You're  a 
pretty  good  friend  of  George  Taylor,  cashier  here,  and 
I  was  wonderin'  if  you'd  mind  puttin'  in  a  word  with 
him  about  my  gettin'  it  renewed  when  it  comes  due. 
Just  tell  him  you  think  I'm  all  right,  and  a  good  risk,  or 
somethin'  like  that." 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  Alvin  seemed  to  find  en 
couragement  in  the  smile. 

"George  thinks  consider'ble  of  you,"  he  said.  "And 
Captain  Jed — he's  one  of  the  directors — he  will,  too,  now 
that  you've  stood  up  to  Colton.  Just  put  in  a  word  for 
me,  will  you?  And  don't  forget  I'm  a  friend  of  yours, 

91 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

and  I'm  strong  for  your  gettin'  a  good,  fair  price  from 
the  town.     Remember  that,  won't  you?" 

"I  won't  forget,  Alvin.     Good-by." 

I  left  him  and  went  into  the  bank.  Henry  Small,  the 
bookkeeper,  was  at  his  desk.  I  walked  over  to  speak 
to  him,  but  he,  looking  up  from  his  figures,  spoke  first. 
There  was,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me,  a  different  note  in  his 
greeting.  It  was  more  hearty,  I  thought.  Certainly  he 
regarded  me  with  a  new  and  curious  interest. 

"Morning,  Ros,"  he  said.  "Well,  how  are  you  these 
days?" 

I  answered  that  I  was  well,  and  was  moving  on  but 
he  detained  me. 

"Lively  times  ahead,  hey,"  he  whispered. 

"What  sort  of  times?"  I  asked. 

He  winked.  "I  guess  you  know,  if  anybody  does,"  he 
observed.  "All  right,  you'll  have  good  friends  on  your 
side.  I  ain't  saying  anything,  of  course,  but  I'm  on,  all 
right." 

He  winked  again.  I  walked  back  to  the  cashier's  win 
dow.  Taylor  had,  evidently,  seen  me  talking  with  the 
bookkeeper,  for  he  was  standing  by  the  little  gate,  wait 
ing  for  me. 

"Hello,  Ros,"  he  said.  "Glad  to  see  you.  Come 
in." 

George  Taylor  was  a  type  of  smart  country  boy  grown 
to  manhood  in  the  country.  His  tone,  like  his  manner, 
was  sharp  and  quick  and  businesslike,  but  he  spoke  with 
the  Down-East  twang  and  used  the  Cape  phrases  and 
metaphors.  He  was  younger  than  I,  but  he  looked 
older,  and,  of  late,  it  had  seemed  to  me  that  he  was 
growing  more  nervous.  We  shook  hands. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  again.  "I  was  hoping  you'd 
drift  in.  I  presumed  likely  you  might.  Sit  down." 

92 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  took  the  proffered  chair.  He  looked  at  me  with 
much  the  same  curious  interest  that  Small  had  shown. 

"We've  been  hearing  about  you,"  he  said.  "You've 
been  getting  yourself  talked  about." 

I  mentally  cussed  Lute  once  more  for  his  loquacity. 

"I'll  break  the  fellow's  neck,"  I  declared,  with  empha 
sis. 

He  laughed.  "Don't  do  that  yet  awhile,"  he  said. 
"The  market  is  in  bad  enough  shape  as  it  is.  If  his  neck 
was  broke  the  whole  of  Wall  Street  would  go  to  pot." 

"Wall  Street?  What  in  the  world  has  Lute  got  to  do 
with  Wall  Street?" 

"Lute!  Oh,  I  see!  Yes,  Lute's  been  doing  consider 
able  talking,  but  it  ain't  his  neck  I  mean.  Say,  Ros,  what 
did  you  do  to  him,  anyway?  You  stirred  him  up  some, 
judging  by  what  he  said  to  me." 

"Who  said?    What?" 

"Why,  Colton.  He  was  in  here  yesterday.  Opened 
what  he  called  a  household  account;  that  was  his  main 
business.  But  he  asked  about  you,  along  with  it." 

This  explained  some  things.  It  was  clear  now  why 
Small  had  appeared  so  interested.  "Oh!"  I  said. 

"You  bet  he  did.  Wanted  to  know  if  I  knew  you,  and 
what  you  were,  and  so  on.  I  told  him  I  knew  you  pretty 
well.  'What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he?  A  damn  fool?'  he 
asked.  I  strained  the  truth  enough  to  say  you  were  a 
pretty  good  fellow  and  a  long  ways  from  that  kind  of 
a  fool,  according  to  my  reckoning.  'Umph!'  says  he. 
'Is  he  rich  ?'  I  told  him  I  guessed  you  wan't  so  rich  that 
you  got  round-shouldered  lugging  your  money.  'Why?' 
says  I,  getting  curious.  'Have  you  met  him,  Mr.  Col- 
ton?  If  you  have  you  ought  to  have  sized  him  up 
yourself.  I  always  heard  you  were  a  pretty  fair  judge.' 
He  looked  at  me  kind  of  funny.  'I  thought  I  was,'  says 

93 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

he,  'but  you  seem  to  raise  a  new  variety  down  here.' 
Then  I  guess  he  thought  he'd  said  enough.  At  any 
rate,  he  walked  off.  What  did  you  and  he  say  to  each 
other,  Ros?" 

I  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  I  did  the  an 
swer  was  non-committal.  "Oh,  we  had  a  business  inter 
view,"  I  said. 

He  nodded.  "Well,"  he  observed,  "I  suppose  it's 
your  affair  and  not  mine.  But,  I  tell  you  this,  Ros:  if 
it's  what  I  suppose  it  is,  it'll  be  everybody's  affair  pretty 
soon." 

"You  think  so,  do  you  ?" 

"I  know  so.  Cap'n  Jed's  a  fighter  and  he  is  on  the 
war  path.  The  two  sides  are  lining  up  already.  Which 
ever  way  you  decide  you'll  make  enemies,  of  course." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  The  prospect  of  enemies, 
more  or  less,  in  Denboro,  did  not  trouble  me. 

"But  you'll  have  to  decide,"  he  went  on,  "who  you'll 
sell  to." 

"Or  not  sell  at  all,"  I  suggested. 

"Can  you  afford  to  do  that?  There'll  be  money — a 
whole  lot  of  money — in  this  before  it's  over,  if  I  know 
the  leaders  on  both  sides.  You've  got  the  whip-hand. 
There'll  be  money  in  it.  Can  you  afford  to  let  it  slip?" 

I  did  not  answer.  Suddenly  his  expression  changed. 
He  looked  haggard  and  care-worn. 

"By  the  Almighty,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth,  and 
without  looking  at  me,  "I  wish  I  had  your  chance." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  .  .  .  How's  your  mother 
nowadays  ?" 

I  told  him  that  my  mother  was  much  as  usual,  and 
we  talked  of  various  things. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "I've  got  some  news  for  you. 

94 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Nothing  surprising.  I  guess  all  hands  have  seen  it  com 
ing.  I'm  engaged  to  be  married." 

"Good !"  said  I,  with  as  much  heartiness  as  I  could  an 
swer;  marriage  did  not  interest  me.  "Congratulations, 
George.  Nellie  Dean,  of  course." 

"Yes." 

"I'm  glad  for  you.  And  for  her.  She'll  make  you  a 
good  wife,  I'm  sure." 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  "Yes,"  he  said  slowly, 
"Nellie's  a  good  girl." 

"When  is  the — what  do  they  call  it?  the  happy  event 
to  take  place?" 

"In  the  fall  some  time,  if  all  goes  well.  I  hope  it 
will." 

"Humph!  Yes,  I  should  think  you  might  hope  as 
much  as  that.  Why  shouldn't  it  go  well?" 

"Hey  ?  Oh,  of  course  it  will !"  He  laughed  and  rose 
from  his  chair  as  several  men  came  into  the  bank.  "I'll 
have  to  leave  you,  Ros,"  he  said.  "There's  a  directors' 
meeting  this  morning.  They're  coming  now." 

As  I  passed  out  of  the  gate  and  through  the  group  of 
directors  I  noticed  that  they  also  regarded  me  with  in 
terest.  Two,  men  from  neighboring  towns  whom  I 
scarcely  knew,  whispered  to  each  other.  Captain  Elisha 
Warren  shook  hands  with  me  and  inquired  concerning 
Mother.  The  last  of  the  group  was  Captain  Jedediah 
Dean,  and  he  touched  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"Ros,"  he  whispered,  "you're  all  right.  Understand? 
I  say  you're  all  right." 

"Thanks,"  I  answered,  briefly. 

"I  heard  about  it,"  he  whispered.  "Ase  Peters  said 
the  Grand  Panjandrum  was  cranky  as  a  shark  with  the 
toothache  all  day  yesterday.  You  must  tell  me  the  yarn 
when  we  get  together.  I  missed  you  when  I  called  just 

95 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

now,  but  I'll  be  down  again  pretty  soon.  You  won't  lose 
nothin'  by  this.  So  long." 

As  I  came  down  the  bank  steps  Sim  Eldredge  called 
across  the  road. 

"Good-by,  Ros,"  he  shouted.  "Come  in  again  next 
time  you're  up  street." 

In  all  my  period  of  residence  in  Denboro  I  had  never 
before  been  treated  like  this.  People  had  never  before 
gone  out  of  their  way  to  shake  hands  with  me.  No  one 
had  considered  it  worth  while  to  ask  favors  of  me.  Sim 
and  Alvin  were  not  to  be  taken  seriously,  of  course,  and 
both  were  looking  after  their  own  pocketbooks,  but  their 
actions  were  straws  proving  the  wind  to  be  blowing  in 
my  direction.  I  thought,  and  smiled  scornfully,  that  I, 
all  at  once,  seemed  to  have  become  a  person  of  some  im 
portance. 

But  my  scorn  was  not  entirely  sincere.  There  was  a 
certain  gratification  in  the  thought.  I  might  pretend — 
I  had  pretended — that  Denboro  opinion,  good  or  bad,  was 
a  matter  of  complete  indifference  to  me.  I  had  assumed 
myself  a  philosopher,  to  whom,  in  the  consciousness  of 
right,  such  trifles  were  of  no  consequence.  But,  philoso 
phy  or  not,  the  fact  remained  that  I  was  pleased.  People 
might  dislike  me — as  that  lofty  Colton  girl  and  her 
father  disliked  me,  though  they  could  dislike  me  no 
more  than  I  did  them — but  I  could  compel  them  to  re 
spect  me.  They  already  must  think  of  me  as  a  man. 
And  so  on — as  I  walked  home  through  the  wet  grass. 
It  was  all  as  foolish  and  childish  and  ridiculous  as  it  well 
could  be.  I  deserved  what  was  coming  to  me — and  I 
got  it. 

For,  as  I  came  down  the  Lane,  I  met  Oscar,  the  chauf 
feur,  and  a  companion,  whom  I  judged  to  be  a  fellow 
servant — the  coachman,  I  learned  afterwards — walking 

96 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

in  the  direction  of  the  village.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
but  they  wore  natty  raincoats  and  caps  and  had  the  city 
air  of  smartness  which  I  recognized  and  envied,  even 
in  them.  The  footpath  was  narrow,  but  they  apparently 
had  no  intention  of  stepping  to  one  side,  so  I  made  way 
for  them.  They  whispered  together  as  they  approached 
and  looked  at  me  curiously  as  we  passed.  A  few  steps 
further  on  I  heard  them  both  burst  out  laughing.  I 
caught  the  words,  from  Oscar,  "fool  Rube"  and  "the  old 
man'll  make  him  look — "  I  heard  no  more,  but  as  I 
turned  into  the  grove  I  saw  them  both  looking  after  me 
with  broad  grins  on  their  faces. 

Somebody  has  said  that  there  is  nothing  harder  to 
bear  than  the  contempt  and  ridicule  of  servants.  For 
one  thing,  you  cannot  resent  it  without  a  loss  of  dignity, 
and,  for  another,  you  may  be  perfectly  sure  that  theirs  is 
but  the  reflection  of  their  employers'  frame  of  mind. 
This  encounter  shook  my  self-satisfaction  more  than  a 
little.  It  angered  me,  but  it  did  more  than  that;  it 
brought  back  the  feeling  I  had  when  I  left  the  Colton 
library,  that  my  defiance  was  not,  after  all,  taken  seri 
ously.  That  I  was  regarded  by  Colton  as  just  what 
Oscar  had  termed  me,  a  "fool  Rube."  When  George 
Taylor  told  me  of  the  great  man's  questions  concerning 
my  foolishness,  I  accepted  the  question  as  a  tribute  to 
my  independence.  Now  I  was  not  so  sure. 

Dorinda  met  me  at  the  door. 

"You've  had  two  callers,"  she  said. 

"So?    Who  were  they?" 

"One  of  'em  was  Cap'n  Jed.  He  drove  down  just 
after  you  left.  He  come  to  see  you  about  that  land, 
I  cal'late." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  remember  he  told  me  he  missed  me  this 
morning.  So  he  came  here?" 

97 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Um-hm.  Him  and  me  had  a  little  talk.  He  seemed 
to  know  consider'ble  about  your  rumpus  with  Mr.  Col- 
ton." 

"How  did  he  know?" 

"He  wouldn't  say,  but  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  got  a 
lot  from  Ase  Peters.  Ase  and  he  are  pretty  thick;  he's 
got  a  mortgage  on  Ase's  house,  you  know.  And  Ase, 
bein'  as  he's  doin'  the  carpenterin'  over  to  Colton's,  hears 
a  lot  from  the  servants,  I  s'pose  likely.  Leastways,  if 
they  don't  tell  all  their  bosses'  affairs  they're  a  new 
breed  of  hired  help,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Cap'n  Jed 
says  Mr.  Colton  cal'lates  you're  a  fool." 

"Yes.  So  I've  heard.  What  did  the  Captain  say  to 
that?" 

"Seemed  to  think  'twas  a  pretty  good  joke.  He  said 
he  didn't  care  how  big  a  fool  you  was  so  long's  you 
was  feeble-minded  on  the  right  side." 

So  there  it  was  again.  My  imagined  importance  in 
the  eyes  of  the  townspeople  simmered  down  to  about 
that.  I  was  an  imbecile,  but  they  must  pretend  to  be 
lieve  me  something  else  because  I  owned  something  they 
wanted.  Well,  I  still  owned  it. 

"Of  course,"  continued  Dorinda,  "I  didn't  tell  him 
you  was  figgerin'  not  to  sell  the  land  at  all.  If  I  had, 
I  s'pose  he'd  have  thought " 

She  stopped  short. 

"You  suppose  what?'  I  asked. 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

She  had  said  enough.  I  could  guess  the  rest.  I  walked 
to  the  window  and  stood,  looking  out.  The  clouds  were 
breaking  and,  as  I  stood  there,  a  ray  of  sunlight  streamed 
through  a  rift  and  struck  the  bay  just  at  the  spot  where 
the  dingy  had  grounded.  The  shallow  water  above  the 
flat  flashed  into  fire.  I  am  not  superstitious,  as  a  gen- 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

eral  thing,  but  the  sight  comforted  me.  It  seemed  like 
an  omen.  There  was  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  outlook. 
There,  at  least,  I  had  not  behaved  like  a  "fool  Rube." 
There  I  had  compelled  respect  and  been  taken  seriously. 

Dorinda  spoke  again. 

"You  ain't  asked  who  your  other  caller  was,"  she  ob 
served. 

"Was  there  another?" 

"Um-hm.  I  told  you  there  was  two.  After  Cap'n 
Jed  left  that  chauffeur  feller  from  the  big  house  come 
here.  He  fetched  a  note  for  you.  Here  'tis." 

I  took  the  note.  It  was  addressed  to  me  in  a  man's 
handwriting,  not  that  of  "Big  Jim"  Colton.  I  opened 
the  envelope  and  read : 

Roscoe  Paine. 

Sir:  The  enclosed  is  in  payment  for  your  work.  No 
receipt  is  necessary. 

Yours  truly, 

B.  VICTOR  CARVER. 

The  "enclosed"  was  a  five-dollar  bill. 

I  stood  staring  at  the  note.    Then  I  began  to  laugh. 

"What's  the  joke?"  asked  Dorinda,  who  had  not  taken 
her  eyes  from  my  face. 

"This,"  said  I,  handing  her  the  money.  She  looked 
at  it  in  astonishment. 

"Um-hm,"  she  said,  drily.  "Well,  I— well,  a  five-dollar 
bill  may  be  a  joke  to  you,  but  /  ain't  familiar  enough 
with  one  to  laugh  at  it.  You  don't  laugh  as  if  'twas 
awful  funny,  either.  Who's  the  joke  on?" 

"It's  on  me,  just  now." 

"Um-hm.  I'd  be  willin'  to  be  joked  ten  times  a  day, 
at  that  price.  And  I'd  undertake  to  laugh  heartier  than 
you're  doin',  too.  What's  it  for?  the  money,  I  mean." 

99 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"It's  for  some  'work'  I  did  yesterday." 

She  was  more  astonished  than  ever. 

"Work!    You?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes.    But  don't  worry;  I  shan't  do  it  again." 

"Land !  that  wouldn't  worry  me.  What  sort  of  work 
was  it?" 

"Oh,  I — I  picked  up  something  adrift  in  the  bay." 

"Um-hm.  I  see.  Somethin'  belongin'  to  the  Coltons, 
I  s'pose  likely.  Why  won't  you  do  it  again  ?  Ain't  they 
paid  you  enough?" 

Again  I  laughed.  "They  have  paid  me  too  much,"  I 
said,  bitterly.  "What  I  picked  up  wasn't  worth  the 
money." 


TOO 


CHAPTER  VII 

AND  that,  in  the  end,  was  the  answer  I  sent  to 
Carver  with  his  five  dollars.  I  spent  an  hour 
in  my  room  trying  to  compose  and  write  a  sar 
castic  reply  to  his  note,  but  I  finally  gave  it  up.  Then 
I  put  the  money  in  an  envelope,  addressed  the  latter,  and 
sent  it  to  the  big  house  by  Lute.  Lute  was  delighted 
with  the  errand. 

"You'll  explain  to  Dorindy,  will  you?"  he  asked.  "She 
cal'lates  I'm  goin'  to  clean  the  henhouse.  But  I  can  do 
that  some  other  time." 

"You  can — yes." 

"Do  you  know — "  Lute  leaned  against  the  clothes  post 
and  prepared  to  philosophize.  "Do  you  know,"  he  ob- 
served,  "that  I  don't  take  no  stock  in  cleanin'  henhouses 
and  such?" 

"Don't  you?    I'm  surprised." 

"You're  surprised  'cause  you  ain't  thought  it  out. 
That's  my  way;  I  always  think  things  out.  Most  folks 
are  selfish.  They  want  to  do  what  they  want  to  do,  and 
they  want  others  to  want  the  same  thing.  If  the  others 
don't  want  it,  then  they  like  to  make  'em  have  it;  any 
how.  Dorindy  is  crazy  on  cleanin'.  She  wouldn't  live 
in  a  dirty  house  no  more'n  she'd  live  in  a  lobster  pot. 
It's  the  way  she's  made.  But  a  hen  ain't  made  that  way. 
A  hen  likes  dirt ;  she  scratches  in  it  and  digs  holes  in  it 
to  waller  in,  and  heaves  it  over  herself  all  day  long.  If 
you  left  it  to  the  hens  would  they  clean  their  house?  I 

101 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

guess  not!  So,  I  say  what's  the  use  of  cruelizin'  'em 
by  makin'  'em  live  clean  when  they  don't  want  to?  I — " 
"Wait  a  minute,"  I  interrupted.  "Lute,  you're  wast 
ing  your  breath.  It  is  Dorinda  you  should  explain  all 
this  to,  not  to  me.  And  you're  wasting  my  time.  I  want 
you  to  take  that  envelope  to  Mr.  Carver;  and  I  want 
you  to  go  now." 

"Well,  I'm  goin',  ain't  I?    I  was  only  just  sayin' " 

"Say  it  when  you  come  back.    And  if  Mr.  Carver  asks 
you  why  I  sent  that  envelope  to  him  be  sure  and  give 
him  the  message  I  gave  you.    Do  you  remember  it  ?" 
"Sartin.     That  what  you  done  wan't  wuth  so  much." 
"Not  exactly.    That  what  I  saved  wasn't  worth  it." 
"All  right.     I'll  remember.     But  what  did  you  save, 
E.OS?   Dorindy  says  'twas  somethin'  you  found  afloat  in 
the  bay.     If  it  was  somethin'  belongin'  to  them  Coltons 
I'd  have  took  the  money,  no  matter  what  the  thing  was 
wuth.    They  can  afford  to  pay  and,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  take 
the  reward." 

"I  have  my  reward.     Now  go." 

I  had  my  reward  and  I  believed  it  worth  much  more 
than  five  dollars.  I  had  learned  my  lesson.  I  knew  now 
exactly  how  I  was  regarded  by  the  occupants  of  the  big 
house  and  by  the  townspeople  as  well.  I  should  cherish 
no  more  illusions  as  to  my  importance  in  their  eyes.  I 
meant  to  be  really  independent  from  that  time  on.  1  did 
not  care — really  did  not  care — for  anything  or  anybody 
outside  my  immediate  household.  I  was  back  in  the  po 
sition  I  had  occupied  for  years,  but  with  one  difference : 
I  had  an  ambition  now.  It  was  to  make  both  sides  in 
the  Shore  Lane  controversy  realize  that  George  Taylor 
was  right  when  he  said  I  had  the  whip-hand.  By 
the  Almighty,  they  should  dance  when  I  cracked  that 
whip! 

102 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

My  first  opportunity  to  crack  it  came  a  day  or  two 
later,  when  Captain  Dean  called  upon  me.  He  had  a 
definite  proposition  to  make,  although  his  Yankee 
shrewdness  and  caution  prevented  his  making  it  until  he 
had  discussed  the  weather  and  other  unimportant  trifles. 
Then  he  leaned  against  the  edge  of  my  work-bench — we 
were  in  the  boathouse — and  began  to  beat  up  to  wind 
ward  of  his  proposal. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  "you  remember  I  told  you  you  was  all 
right,  when  I  met  you  at  the  bank  t'other  day." 

"I  remember,"  I  answered. 

"Yes.  Well,  I  cal'late  you  know  what  I  meant  by 
that." 

I  did  not  pretend  ignorance  of  his  meaning. 

"I  presume,"  I  replied,  "that  you  meant  I  was  right  in 
not  selling  that  strip  of  land  to  Mr.  Colton." 

"That's  what  I  meant.  You  kept  your  promise  to  me 
and  I  shan't  forget  it.  Nor  the  town  won't  forget  it, 
neither.  Would  you  mind  tellin'  me  just  what  happened 
between  you  and  His  Majesty?" 

"Not  at  all.  He  said  he  wanted  to  buy  the  Shore 
Lane  strip  and  I  refused  to  sell  it  to  him.  He  said  I  was 
crazy  and  an  infernal  robber  and  I  told  him  to  go  to  the 
devil." 

"What!  you  didn't!" 

"I  did." 

Captain  Jed  slapped  his  knee  and  shouted  in  delight. 
He  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  me. 

"By  the  great  and  everlastin' !"  he  declared,  between 
laughs,  "you're  all  right,  Ros  Paine  !  I  said  you  was  and 
now  I'll  swear  to  it.  Told  old  Colton  to  go  to  the  devil ! 
If  that  ain't— oh,  I  wish  I'd  been  there !" 

I  went  on  sand-papering  a  valve  plug.  He  walked 
up  and  down  the  floor,  chuckling. 

103 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  "you've  made  yourself  solid 
in  Denboro,  anyhow.  And  I  told  you  you  shouldn't  lose 
nothin'  by  it.  The  Selectmen  held  a  meetin'  last  night 
and  they  feel,  same  as  me,  that  that  Shore  Lane  shan't 
be  shut  off.  You  understand  what  that  means  to  you, 
don't  you  ?" 

I  looked  at  him,  coolly. 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"You  don't!  It  means  the  town's  decided  to  buy  that 
strip  of  land  of  yours.  Definitely  decided,  practically 
speakin'.  Now  what'll  you  sell  it  to  us  for?" 

I  put  down  the  valve  plug.  "Captain,"  said  I,  "that 
land  is  not  for  sale." 

"Not  for  sale?    What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  that  I  have  decided  not  to  sell  it,  for  the 
present,  at  least.  Neither  to  Colton  nor  any  one  else." 

He  could  not  believe  it.  Of  course  I  would  not  sell  it 
to  Colton.  Colton  was  a  stuck-up,  selfish  city  aristocrat 
who  thought  all  creation  ought  to  belong  to  him.  But 
the  town  was  different.  Did  I  realize  that  it  was  the 
town  I  lived  in  that  was  asking  to  buy  now  ?  The  town 
of  which  I  was  a  citizen?  Think  of  what  the  town  had 
done  for  me. 

"Very  well,"  I  answered.  "I'm  willing  to  think.  What 
has  it  done  for  me?" 

It  had — it  had — well,  it  had  done  a  whole  lot.  As  a 
citizen  of  that  town  I  owed  it  a — a 

"Look  here,  Captain  Dean,"  I  interrupted,  "there's  no 
use  in  our  arguing  the  matter.  I  have  decided  not  to 
sell." 

"Don't  talk  so  foolish.  Course  you'll  sell  if  you  get 
money  enough." 

"So  Colton  said,  but  I  shan't." 

"Ros,  I  ain't  got  any  authority  to  do  it,  but  I  shouldn't 

104 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

wonder  if  I  could  get  you  three  hundred  dollars  for  that 
strip." 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  price." 

"Rubbish  !    Anything's  a  question  of  price." 

"This  isn't.  If  it  was  I  probably  should  have  accepted 
Mr.  Colton's  offer  of  six  hundred  and  fifty." 

"Six  hun — !  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  offered  you  six 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  that  little  mite  of  land,  and 
you  never  took  him  up  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  must  be  a  ...  Humph!  Six  hun 
dred  and  fifty !  The  town  can't  meet  no  such  bid  as  that, 
of  course." 

"I  don't  expect  it  to." 

He  regarded  me  in  silence.  He  was  chagrined  and 
angry;  his  florid  face  was  redder  than  ever;  but,  more 
than  all,  he  was  puzzled. 

"Well,"  he  observed,  after  a  moment,  "this  beats  me, 
this  does !  Last  time  we  talked  you  was  willin'  to  con 
sider  sellin'.  What's  changed  you?  What's  the  reason 
you  won't  sell?  What  business  reason  have  you  got  for 
not  doin'  it?" 

I  had  no  business  reason  at  all.  Except  for  Mother's 
counsel  not  to  sell,  which  was  based  upon  sentiment  and 
nothing  else,  and  my  own  stubbornness,  I  had  no  reason 
at  all.  Yet  I  was,  if  anything,  more  firm  in  my  resolve. 

"How  about  the  Lane?"  he  demanded.  "You  know 
what  that  Lane  means  to  Denboro?" 

"I  know  what  you  say  it  means.  The  townspeople  can 
continue  to  use  the  Lane,  just  as  they  always  have,  so 
long  as  they  behave  themselves.  There  is  no  use  of  our 
talking  further,  Captain.  I've  made  up  my  mind." 

He  went  away,  soon  after,  but  he  asked  another  ques- 
Mon. 

105 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Will  you  do  this  much  for  me?"  he  asked.  "Will 
you  promise  me  not  to  sell  the  land  to  Colton?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  will  make  no  promise  of  any  kind,  to 
anybody." 

"Oh,"  with  a  scornful  sniff,  "I  see.  I'm  on  to  you. 
You're  just  hangin'  out  for  a  big  price.  I  might  have 
known  it.  You're  on  Colton's  side,  after  all." 

I  rose.    I  was  angry  now. 

"I  told  you  price  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  I  said, 
sharply.  "I  am  on  no  one's  side.  The  town  is  welcome 
to  use  the  Lane ;  that  I  have  told  you  already.  There  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  make  many  mistakes,"  he  observed,  slowly ; 
"but  I  guess  I've  made  one.  You're  a  whole  lot  deeper'n 
I  thought  you  was." 

So  much  for  the  proletariat.  I  heard  from  the  pluto 
crats  next  day.  Sim  Eldredge  dropped  in  on  me.  After 
much  wriggling  about  the  bush  he  intimated  that  he 
knew  of  Captain  Jedediah's  call  and  what  had  taken 
place. 

"You  done  just  right,  Ros,"  he  whispered.  He  had  a 
habit  of  whispering  as  the  Captain  had  of  shouting. 
"You  done  just  right.  Keep  'em  guessin';  keep  'em 
guessin'.  Jed's  all  upsot.  He  don't  know  whether  he's 
keel  down  or  on  his  beam  ends.  He'll  be  makin'  a  higher 
bid  pretty  soon.  Say,"  with  a  wink,  "I  see  Colton  last 
night." 

"Did  you?" 

"Yup.  Oh,  I  give  him  a  jolt.  I  hinted  that  the  town 
had  made  you  a  fine  offer  and  you  was  considerin'  it." 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?    Who  gave  you  the  right 

"Sshh!     Don't  holler.     Somebody  might  be  listenin'. 

106 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  come  through  the  woods  and  round  the  beach  so's  I 
wouldn't  be  seen.  What  do  you  s'pose  Colton  said?" 

"I  don't  care  what  he  said." 

"You  will  when  I  tell  you.  He  as  much  as  offered  a 
thousand  dollars  for  that  land.  My  crimps !  a  thousand ! 
think  of  that !  I  presume  likely  you  wouldn't  take  that, 
would  you,  Ros?" 

"Sim,  I'll  tell  you,  as  I  told  Captain  Jed,  that  land  is 
not  for  sale." 

I  tried  to  make  that  statement  firm  and  sharp  enough 
to  penetrate  even  his  wooden  head ;  but  he  merely  winked 
again. 

"All  right/'  he  whispered,  hastily,  "all  right.  I  guess 
perhaps  you're  correct  in  hangin'  on.  Still,  a  thousand 
is  a  lot  of  money,  even  after  you  take  out  my  little  com 
mission.  But  you  know  best.  You  put  your  trust  in  me. 
I'll  keep  her  jumpin'.  I  understand.  Good-by." 

He  went  out  hurriedly,  and,  though  I  shouted  after 
him,  he  only  waved  and  ducked  behind  a  beach-plum 
bush.  He  did  not  believe  me  serious  in  my  refusal  to 
sell;  neither  did  Dean,  or  Colton,  or,  apparently,  any 
one  else.  They  all  thought  me  merely  shrewd,  a  sharp 
trader  driving  a  hard  bargain,  as  they  would  have  done 
in  my  place.  They  might  think  so,  if  they  wished;  I 
should  not  explain.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  could  not  have 
explained  my  attitude,  even  to  myself. 

Yet  this  very  attitude  made  a  difference,  a  perceptible 
difference,  in  my  position  in  Denboro.  I  noticed  it  each 
time  I  went  up  to  the  village.  I  saw  the  groups  at  the 
post-office  and  at  the  depot  turn  to  watch  me  as  I  ap 
proached  and  as  I  went  away.  Captain  Jedediah  did  not 
mention  the  Lane  again — at  least  for  some  time — but  he 
always  hailed  me  cordially  when  we  met  and  seemed 
anxious  to  be  seen  in  my  company.  Eldredge,  of  course, 

107 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

was  effusive;  so  was  Alvin  Baker.  And  other  people, 
citizens  of  consequence  in  the  town,  who  had  heretofore 
merely  bowed,  now  stopped  to  speak  with  me  on  the 
street.  Members  of  the  sewing  circle  called  on  Mother 
more  frequently,  and  Matilda  Dean,  Captain  Jed's  wife, 
came  regularly  once  a  week.  Sometimes  she  saw  Mother 
and  sometimes  she  did  not,  depending  upon  Dorinda's 
state  of  mind  at  the  time. 

Lute,  always  a  sort  of  social  barometer,  noticed  the 
change  in  the  weather. 

"Everybody's  talkin'  about  you,  Ros,"  he  declared. 
"They  cal'late  you're  a  pretty  smart  feller.  They  don't 
just  understand  what  you're  up  to,  but  they  think  you're 
pretty  smart." 

"No?"  I  commented,  ironically.  "Lute,  you  astonish 
me.  Why  am  I  smart?" 

"Well,  they  don't  know  exactly,  but  they  cal'late  you 
must  be.  Oh,  I  hear  things.  Cap'n  Jed  said  t'other  night 
you'd  make  a  pretty  good  Selectman." 

"/  would?    A  Selectman?" 

"Yup.  He  as  much  as  hinted  that  to  me;  wondered 
if  you'd  take  the  nomination  provided  he  could  fix  it  for 
you.  Sim  Eldredge  and  Alvin  and  some  more  all  said 
they'd  vote  for  you  if  they  got  a  chance.  Are  you  fig- 
gerin'  to  charge  toll  on  the  Lane?" 

"Toll  ?    What  put  that  idea  in  your  head  ?" 

"Nothin',  only  some  of  the  fellers  wondered  if  you 
was.  You  see,  you  won't  sell,  and  so " 

"I  see.  That's  a  brilliant  suggestion,  Lute.  When  I 
adopt  it  I'll  appoint  you  toll-keeper." 

"By  time !  I  wish  you  would.  I'd  make  Thoph  New- 
comb  pay  up.  He  owes  me  ten  cents ;  bet  it  one  time  and 
never  settled." 

Yes,  my  position  in  Denboro  had  changed.  But  I  took 

108 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

no  pride  in  the  change,  as  I  had  at  first ;  I  knew  the  rea 
son  for  this  sudden  burst  of  popularity.  The  knowledge 
made  me  more  cynical  than  ever — cynical,  and  lonely. 
For  the  first  time  since  I  came  to  the  Cape  I  longed  for 
a  real  friend,  not  a  relative  or  an  acquaintance,  but  a 
friend  to  trust  and  confide  in.  Some  one,  with  no  string 
of  his  own  to  pull,  who  cared  for  me  because  I  was  my 
self. 

And  all  the  time  I  had  such  a  friend  and  did  not  re 
alize  it.  The  knowledge  came  to  me  in  this  way.  Mother 
had  one  of  her  seizures,  one  of  the  now  infrequent 
"sinking  spells,"  as  the  doctor  called  them,  on  an  eve 
ning  when  I  was  alone  with  her.  Dorinda  and  Lute  had 
gone,  with  the  horse  and  buggy,  to  visit  a  cousin  in  Bay- 
port.  They  were  to  stay  over  night  and  return  before 
breakfast  the  next  morning. 

I  was  alone  in  the  dining-room  when  Mother  called 
my  name.  There  was  something  in  her  tone  which 
alarmed  me  and  I  hastened  to  her  bedside.  One  glance 
at  her  face  was  enough. 

"Boy,"  she  said,  weakly,  "I  am  afraid  I  am  going  to  be 
ill.  I  have  tried  not  to  alarm  you,  but  I  feel  faint  and 
I  am — you  won't  be  alarmed,  will  you?  I  know  it  is 
nothing  serious." 

I  told  her  not  to  worry  and  not  to  talk.  I  hurried  out 
to  the  kitchen,  got  the  hot  water  and  the  brandy,  made 
her  swallow  a  little  of  the  mixture,  and  bathed  her  fore 
head  and  wrists  with  vinegar,  an  old-fashioned  restora 
tive  which  Dorinda  always  used.  She  said  she  felt  bet 
ter,  but  I  was  anxious  and,  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to 
leave  her,  hurried  out  to  bring  the  doctor.  She  begged 
me  not  to  go,  because  it  was  beginning  to  rain  and  I 
might  get  wet,  but  I  assured  her  it  was  not  raining  hard, 
and  went. 

109 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  was  not  raining  hard  when  I  started,  but  there  was 
every  sign  of  a  severe  storm  close  at  hand.  It  was  pitch 
dark  and  I  was  weary  from  stumbling  through  the 
bushes  and  over  the  rough  path  when  I  reached  the  cor 
ner  of  the  Lane  and  the  Lower  Road.  Then  a  carriage 
came  down  that  road.  It  was  an  open  wagon  and  George 
Taylor  was  the  driver.  He  had  been  up  to  the  Deans' 
and  was  on  his  way  home. 

I  hailed  the  vehicle,  intending  to  ask  for  a  ride,  but 
when  Taylor  discovered  who  his  hailer  was  he  insisted 
on  my  going  back  to  the  house.  He  would  get  the  doc 
tor,  he  said,  and  bring  him  down  at  once.  I  was  afraid 
he  would  be  caught  in  the  storm,  and  hesitated  in  ac 
cepting  the  offer,  but  he  insisted.  I  did  go  back  to  the 
house,  found  Mother  in  much  the  same  condition  as 
when  I  left  her,  and  had  scarcely  gotten  into  the  kitchen 
again  when  Taylor  once  more  appeared. 

"I  brought  Nellie  along  to  stay  with  your  mother,"  he 
said.  "The  Cap'n  and  the  old  lady" — meaning  Matilda 
— "were  up  at  the  meeting-house  and  we  just  left  a  note 
saying  where  we'd  gone.  Nellie's  all  right.  Between 
you  and  me,  she  don't  talk  you  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  like 
her  ma,  and  she's  good  company  for  sick  folks.  Now  I'll 
fetch  the  doctor  and  be  right  back." 

"But  it's  raining  pitchforks,"  I  said.  "You'll  be  wet 
through." 

"No,  I  won't.    I'll  have  Doc  Quimby  here  in  no  time." 

He  drove  off  and  Nellie  Dean  went  into  Mother's  room. 
I  had  always  considered  Nellie  a  milk-and-watery  young 
female,  but  somehow  her  quiet  ways  and  soft  voice 
seemed  just  what  were  needed  in  a  sick  room.  I  left  the 
two  together  and  came  out  to  wait  for  Taylor  and  the 
doctor. 

But  they  did  not  come.  The  storm  was  under  full 

no 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

headway  now,  and  the  wind  was  dashing  the  rain  in 
sheets  against  the  windows.  I  waited  nearly  an  hour 
and  still  no  sign  of  the  doctor. 

Nellie  came  out  of  Mother's  room  and  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  her. 

"She's  quiet  now,"  she  whispered.  "I  think  she's 
asleep.  Where  do  you  suppose  George  is?" 

"Goodness  knows !"  I  answered.  "I  shouldn't  have  let 
him  go,  a  night  like  this." 

"I'm  afraid  you  couldn't  stop  him  if  his  mind  was 
made  up.  He's  dreadful  determined  when  he  sets  out  to 
be." 

"He's  a  good  fellow,"  I  said,  to  please  her.  She  wor 
shipped  the  cashier,  a  fact  of  which  all  Denboro  was 
aware,  and  which  caused  gossip  to  report  that  she  did 
the  courting  for  the  two. 

She  blushed  and  smiled. 

"He  thinks  a  lot  of  you/'  she  observed.  "He's  always 
talking  to  me  about  you.  It's  a  good  thing  you're  a  man 
or  I  should  be  jealous." 

I  smiled.  "I  seem  to  be  talked  about  generally,  just 
now,"  said  I. 

"Are  you  ?  Oh,  you  mean  about  the  Shore  Lane.  Yes, 
Pa  can't  make  you  out  about  that.  He  says  you've  got 
something  up  your  sleeve  and  he  hasn't  decided  what  it 
is.  I  asked  George  what  Pa  meant  and  he  just  laughed. 
He  said  whatever  you  had  in  your  sleeve  was  your  af 
fair  and,  if  he  was  any  judge  of  character,  it  would  stay 
there  till  you  got  ready  to  shake  it  out.  He  always  stood 
up  for  you,  even  before  the  Shore  Lane  business  hap 
pened.  I  think  he  likes  you  better  than  any  one  else  in 
Denboro." 

"Present  company  excepted,  of  course." 

"Oh,  of  course.  If  that  wasn't  excepted  I  should 
in 


really  be  jealous.  Then,"  more  seriously,  "Roscoe,  does 
it  seem  to  you  that  George  is  worried  or  troubled  about 
something  lately?" 

I  thought  of  Taylor's  sudden  change  of  expression 
that  day  in  the  bank,  and  of  his  remark  that  he  wished 
he  had  my  chance.  But  I  concealed  my  thoughts. 

"The  prospect  of  marriage  is  enough  to  make  any  man 
worried,  isn't  it?"  I  asked.  "I  imagine  he  realizes  that 
he  isn't  good  enough  for  you." 

There  was  sarcasm  in  this  remark,  sarcasm  of  which 
I  should  have  been  ashamed.  But  she  took  it  literally 
and  as  a  compliment.  She  looked  at  me  reproachfully. 

"Good  enough  for  me !"  she  exclaimed.  "He !  Some 
times  I  wonder  if  it  is  right  for  me  to  be  so  happy.  I 
feel  almost  as  if  it  was  wrong.  As  if  something  must 
happen  to  punish  me  for  it." 

I  did  not  answer.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  envious. 
There  was  real  happiness  in  the  world.  This  country 
girl  had  found  it;  that  Mabel  Colton  would,  no  doubt, 
find  it  some  day — unless  she  married  her  Victor,  in 
which  case  I  had  my  doubts.  But  what  happiness  was 
in  store  for  me? 

Nellie  did  most  of  the  talking  thereafter;  principally 
about  George,  and  why  he  did  not  come.  At  last  she 
went  in  to  see  if  Mother  needed  her,  and,  twenty  min 
utes  later,  when  I  looked  into  the  bedroom,  I  saw  that 
she  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  couch.  Mother,  too,  seemed 
to  be  sleeping,  and  I  left  them  thus. 

It  was  almost  eleven  o'clock  when  the  sound  of  car 
riage  wheels  in  the  yard  brought  me  to  the  window  and 
then  to  the  door.  Doctor  Quimby  had  come  at  last  and 
Taylor  was  with  him.  The  doctor,  in  his  mackintosh  and 
overshoes,  was  dry  enough,  but  his  companion  was  wet 
to  the  skin. 

112 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Sorry  I'm  so  late,  Ros,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  was  way 
up  to  Ebenezer  Gaboon's  in  West  Denboro.  There's  a 
new  edition  of  Ebenezer,  made  port  this  morning,  and 
I  was  a  little  bit  concerned  about  the  missus.  She's  all 
right,  though.  How's  your  mother?" 

"Better,  I  think.  She's  asleep  now.  So  is  Nellie.  I 
suppose  George  told  you  she  was  with  her." 

"Yes.  George  had  a  rough  passage  over  that  West 
Denboro  road.  It's  bad  enough  in  daylight,  but  on  a 
night  like  this — whew !  I  carried  away  a  wheel  turning 
into  Ebenezer's  yard,  and  if  George  hadn't  had  his  team 
along  I  don't  know  how  I'd  have  got  here.  I'll  go  right 
in  and  see  Mrs.  Paine." 

He  left  us  and  I  turned  to  Taylor. 

"You're  soaked  through,"  I  declared.  "Come  out  to 
the  kitchen  stove.  What  in  the  world  made  you  drive 
way  up  to  that  forsaken  place  ?  It's  a  good  seven  miles. 
Come  out  to  the  kitchen.  Quick !" 

He  sat  down  by  the  stove  and  put  his  wet  boots  on  the 
hearth.  I  mixed  him  a  glass  of  the  brandy  and  hot 
water  and  handed  him  a  cigar. 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  George  ?"  I  said.  "I  never  would 
have  thought  of  asking  such  a  thing." 

"I  know  it,"  he  said.  "Course  you  wouldn't  ask  it. 
There's  plenty  in  this  town  that  would,  but  you  wouldn't. 
Maybe  that's  one  reason  I  was  so  glad  to  do  it  for 
you." 

"I  am  almost  sorry  you  did.  It  is  too  great  a  kind 
ness  altogether.  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  done  as 
much  for  you." 

"Go  on !    Yes,  you  would.    I  know  you." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No,  you  don't,"  I  answered.  "Captain  Jed — your 
prospective  father-in-law — said  the  other  day  that  he  had 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

been  mistaken;  he  thought  he  knew  me,  but  he  was  be 
ginning  to  find  he  did  not." 

"Did  he  say  that ?    What  did  he  mean?" 

"I  imagine  he  meant  he  wasn't  sure  whether  I  was  the 
fool  he  had  believed  me  to  be,  or  just  a  sharp  rascal." 

Taylor  looked  at  me  over  the  edge  of  his  glass. 

"You  think  that's  what  he  meant,  do  you  ?" 

"I  know  it." 

He  put  the  glass  on  the  floor  beside  him  and  laid  a 
hand  on  my  knee. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  for  sure  what  the  Cap'n 
meant,  though  if  he  thinks  you're  either  one  of  the  two 
he's  the  fool.  But  7  know  you — better,  maybe,  than  you 
know  yourself.  At  least  I  believe  I  know  you  better  than 
any  one  else  in  the  town." 

"That  wouldn't  be  saying  much." 

"Wouldn't  it?  Well,  maybe  not.  But  whose  fault  is 
it?  It's  yours,  the  way  I  look  at  it.  Ros,  I've  been 
meaning  to  have  a  talk  with  you  some  day ;  perhaps  this 
is  as  good  a  time  as  any.  You  make  a  big  mistake  in 
the  way  you  treat  Denboro  and  the  folks  in  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  just  that.  Your  whole  attitude  is  wrong,  has 
been  wrong  ever  since  you  first  came  here  to  live.  You 
never  gave  any  of  us  a  chance  to  know  you  and  like 
you — anybody  but  me,  I  mean,  and  even  I  never  had  but 
half  a  chance.  You  make  a  mistake,  I  tell  you.  There's 
lots  of  good  folks  in  this  town,  lots  of  'em.  Cap'n  Elisha 
Warren's  one  of  'em  and  there's  plenty  more.  They're 
countrymen,  same  as  I  am,  but  they're  good,  plain,  sen 
sible  folks,  and  they'd  like  to  like  you  if  they  had  a 
chance.  You  belong  to  the  Town  Improvement  Society, 
but  you  never  go  to  a  meeting.  You  ought  to  get  out 
and  mix  more." 

114 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "I  guess  my  mixing 
wouldn't  be  very  welcome,"  I  said.  "And,  besides,  I 
don't  care  to  mix." 

"I  know  you  don't,  but  you  ought  to,  just  the 
same." 

"Nonsense!  George,  I'm  not  blind,  or  deaf.  Don't 
you  suppose  I  know  what  Warren  and  Dean  and  the  rest 
think  of  me?  They  consider  me  a  loafer  and  no  good. 
I've  heard  what  they  say.  I've  noticed  how  they  treat 
me." 

"How  you  treat  them,  you  mean.  You  are  as  cold  and 
freezing  as  a  cake  of  ice.  They  was  willing  to  be  friends 
but  you  wouldn't  have  it.  And,  as  for  their  calling  you 
a  loafer — well,  that's  your  own  fault,  too.  You  ought 
to  do  something;  not  work,  perhaps,  but  you'd  be  a 
whole  lot  better  off  if  you  got  really  interested  in  some 
thing.  Get  into  politics;  get  into  town  affairs;  get  out 
and  know  the  people  you're  living  with." 

"I  don't  care  to  know  them;  and  I'm  sure  they  don't 
care  to  know  me." 

"Yes,  they  do.  I  underetand  how  you  feel.  In  this 
Shore  Lane  matter  now :  you  think  Cap'n  Jed  and  Col- 
ton,  because  they  pretend  to  call  you  a  fool,  don't  respect 
you  for  taking  the  stand  you  have.  They  do.  They 
don't  understand  you,  maybe,  but  they  can't  help  respect 
ing  you  and,  if  they  knew  you  even  as  well  as  I  do, 
they'd  like  you.  Come!  I  ain't  throwin'  any  bouquets, 
but  why  do  you  suppose  I'd  be  willing  to  drive  to  West 
Denboro  forty  times  over,  on  forty  times  worse  nights 
than  this,  for  you?  Why?" 

"Heaven  knows!    Would  you?" 

"I  would.  I  like  you,  Ros.  I  took  a  shine  to  you  the 
first  time  I  met  you.  I  don't  know  why  exactly.  Why 
does  anybody  like  anybody  else?  But  I  think  a  whole 

"5 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

lot  of  you.     I  know  this  sounds  foolish,  and  you  don't 
feel  that  way  towards  me,  but  it's  the  truth." 

I  was  amazed.  I  had  always  liked  George  Taylor,  but 
I  never  felt  any  strong  affection  for  him.  I  was  a  little 
less  indifferent  to  him  than  to  others  in  Denboro,  that 
was  all.  And  I  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  his  liking 
for  me  was  of  the  same  casual,  lukewarm  variety.  To 
hear  him  declare  himself  in  this  way  was  astonishing — 
he,  the  dry,  keen,  Yankee  banker. 

"But  why,  George?"  I  repeated. 

"I  don't  know  why;  I  told  you  that.  It's  because  I 
can't  help  it,  I  suppose.  Or  because,  as  I  said,  I  know 
you  better  than  any  one  else." 

I  sighed.     "Nobody  knows  me  here,"  I  said. 

"One  knows  you,  Ros.    I  know  you." 

"You  may  think  you  do,  but  you  don't.  You  can 
thank  God  for  your  ignorance." 

"Maybe  I  ain't  so  ignorant." 

I  looked  at  him.  He  was  looking  me  straight  in  the 
eye. 

"What  do  you  know?"  I  asked,  slowly. 

"I  know,  for  one  thing,  that  your  name  ain't  Paine." 

I  could  not  answer.  I  am  not  certain  whether  I  at 
tempted  to  speak  or  move.  I  do  remember  that  the  pres 
sure  of  his  hand  on  my  knee  tightened. 

"It's  all  right,  Ros,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "Nobody 
knows  but  me,  and  nobody  ever  shall  know  if  I  can  help 
it." 

"How — how  much  do  you  know  ?"  I  stammered. 

"Why,  pretty  much  all,  I  guess.  I've  known  ever  since 
your  mother  was  taken  sick.  Some  things  I  read  in  the 
paper,  and  the  pictures  of — of  your  father,  put  me  on, 
and  afterwards  I  got  more  certain  of  it.  But  it's  all  right 
Nobody  but  me  knows  or  shall  know." 

116 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  leaned  my  head  on  my  hand.  He  patted  my  knee, 
gently. 

"Are — are  you  sure  no  one  else  knows?"  I  asked. 

"Certain  sure.  There  was  one  time  when  it  might 
have  all  come  out.  A  reporter  fellow  from  one  of  the 
Boston  papers  got  on  the  track  somehow  and  came  down 
here  to  investigate.  Luckily  I  was  the  first  man  he 
tackled,  and  I  steered  him  away.  I  presume  likely  I  lied 
some,  but  my  conscience  is  easy  so  far  as  that  goes." 

"And  you  have  told  no  one  ?    Not  even  Nellie  ?" 

"No.    I  tell  Nellie  most  things,  but  not  all — not  all." 

I  remembered  afterwards  that  he  sighed  as  he  said 
this  and  took  his  hand  from  my  knee ;  but  then  my  agita 
tion  was  too  great  to  do  more  than  casually  notice  it.  I 
rose  to  my  feet. 

"George!  George!"  I  cried.  "I — I  can't  say  to  you 
what  I  should  like.  But  why — why  did  you  shield  me? 
And  lie  for  me  ?  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  I  was  hardly  more 
than  a  stranger." 

He  sighed.  "Don't  know,"  he  answered.  "I  never 
could  quite  see  why  a  man's  sins  should  be  visited  on  the 
widows  and  fatherless.  And,  of  course,  I  realized  that 
you  and  your  mother  changed  your  name  and  came 
down  here  to  get  away  from  gossip  and  talk.  But  I 
guess  the  real  reason  was  that  I  liked  you,  Ros.  Love 
at  first  sight,  same  as  we  read  about ;  hey  ?" 

He  looked  up  and  smiled.    I  seized  his  hand. 

"George,"  I  said,  chokingly,  "I  did  not  believe  I  had  a 
real  friend  in  the  world,  except  Mother  and  Dorinda  and 
Lute,  of  course.  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  shielding 
us  all  these  years;  there's  no  use  in  my  trying.  But  if 
ever  I  can  do  anything  to  help  you — anything — I'll  do  it. 
I'll  swear  to  that." 

He  shook  my  hand. 

117 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  know  you  will,  Ros,"  he  said.  "I  told  you  I  knew 
you." 

"If  ever  I  can  do  anything " 

He  interrupted  me. 

"There's  one  thing  you  can  do  right  now,"  he  said. 
"That's  get  out  and  mix.  That'll  please  me  as  much  as 
anything.  And  begin  right  off.  Why,  see  here,  the 
Methodist  society  is  going  to  give  a  strawberry  festival 
on  the  meeting-house  lawn  next  Thursday  night.  About 
everybody's  going,  Nellie  and  I  included.  You  come, 
will  you?" 

I  hesitated.  I  had  heard  about  the  festival,  but  I  cer 
tainly  had  not  contemplated  attending. 

"Come!"  he  urged.  "You  won't  say  no  to  the  first 
favor  I  ask  you.  Promise  me  you'll  be  on  hand." 

Before  I  could  answer,  we  heard  the  door  of  Mother's 
room  open.  George  and  I  hastened  into  the  dining-room. 
Doctor  Quimby  and  Nellie  Dean  were  there.  Nellie 
rushed  over  to  her  lover's  side. 

"You  bad  boy,"  she  cried.     "You're  wet  through." 

Doctor  Quimby  turned  to  me. 

"Your  ma's  getting  on  all  right,"  he  declared.  "About 
all  that  ails  her  now  is  that  she  wants  to  see  you." 

George  was  assisting  Nellie  to  put  on  her  wraps. 

"Got  to  leave  you  now,  Ros,"  he  said.  "Cap'n  Jed  and 
Matildy'll  think  we've  eloped  ahead  of  time.  Good-night. 
Oh,  say,  will  you  promise  me  to  take  in  the  strawberry 
festival?" 

"Why.."  I  answered,  "I  suppose —  Yes,  Mother,  I'm 
coming —  Why,  yes,  George,  I'll  promise,  to  please 
you." 

I  have  often  wondered  since  what  my  life  story  would 
have  been  if  I  had  not  made  that  promise. 


118 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  Methodist  church  stood  on  the  slope  of  a 
little  hill,  back  from  the  Main  Road,  and  the 
parsonage  was  next  door.  Between  the  church 
and  the  parsonage  was  a  stretch  of  lawn,  dotted  with 
shrubs  and  cedars  and  shaded  by  two  big  silver-leaf  pop 
lars.  It  was  on  this  lawn  that,  provided  the  night  was 
fair,  the  strawberry  festival  was  to  be  held.  If  the 
weather  should  be  unpropitious  the  festival  was  to  be 
in  the  church  vestry. 

All  that  day  Dorinda  was  busy  baking  and  icing  cake. 
She  was  not  going  to  the  festival — partly  because  I  was 
going  and  she  could  not  leave  Mother — but  principally 
because  such  affairs  were  altogether  too  frivolous  to  fit 
in  her  scheme  of  orthodoxy.  "I  don't  recollect,"  she 
said,  "that  the  apostles  did  much  strawberry  festivalin' ; 
they  had  other  things  to  attend  to."  Lute,  however,  was 
going  and  if  he  had  been  invited  to  a  Presidential  recep 
tion  he  could  not  have  been  much  more  excited.  He  was 
dressed  and  ready  at  supper  time,  although  the  festival 
did  not  begin  until  seven-thirty. 

"Think  I'm  all  right,  Dorindy,  do  you?"  he  queried, 
anxiously  turning  himself  about  for  his  wife's  inspection. 
"How  about  these  new  pants  ?  Fur  enough  down  on  my 
boots,  be  they?" 

Dorinda  looked  him  over  with  a  critical  eye.  "Um-hm," 
she  observed,  "that  end  of  'em  seems  to  be  all  right.  But 
I  cal'late  the  upper  end  ain't  been  introduced  to  your  vest 

119 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

yet.    Anyhow,  the  two  don't  seem  to  be  well  enough  ac 
quainted  to  associate  close." 

Lute  bent  forward  to  inspect  the  hiatus  between  trou 
sers  and  waistcoat.  "By  time!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  told 
Sim  Eldredge  they  was  too  short  in  the  waist.  He  said 
if  they  was  any  longer  they'd  wrinkle  under  the  arms. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  If  I  hist  'em  up  they'll  be 
what  the  fellers  call  high-water,  won't  them?" 

"Humph!  I'd  ruther  have  'em  high-water  than  shoal 
in  the  middle  of  the  channel.  You'll  have  to  average  up 
somehow.  I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  trust 
you  to  buy  anything  all  by  yourself." 

She  condescended  to  approve  of  my  appearance  when, 
an  hour  later,  I  came  downstairs,  garbed  in  my  best. 

"Humph!"  she  vouchsafed,  after  a  long  look.  "I  de 
clare  !  I'd  hardly  know  you,  Roscoe.  You  look  more  as 
you  used  to  when  you  fust  come  here  to  live." 

"Thanks,"  I  answered,  drily.  "I'm  glad  to  see  that 
you  respect  old  age.  This  suit  is  venerable  enough  to 
command  that  kind  of  respect." 

"  Tain't  the  suit,  though  that's  all  right  enough.  It's 
the  way  you  wear  it,  I  guess.  You  look  better  than  you 
used  to.  You're  browned  up  and  broadened  out  and  it's 
real  becomin'.  But,"  she  added,  with  characteristic  cau 
tion,  "you  must  remember  that  good  looks  don't  count 
for  much.  My  father  used  to  say  to  me  that  handsome 
is  that  handsome  does.  Not  that  I  was  so  homely  I'd 
scare  the  crows,  but  he  didn't  want  me  to  be  vain.  Now 
don't  fall  overboard  in  that  suit,  will  you?" 

Mother  noticed  my  unwonted  grandeur  when  I  went 
in  to  say  good-night  to  her. 

"Why,  Roscoe!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  must  consider 
this  strawberry  festival  very  important." 

"Why,  Mother?" 

120 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Because  you've  taken  such  pains  to  dress  for  it." 

"It  did  not  require  a  great  deal  of  pains.  I  merely 
put  on  what  Dorinda  calls  my  Sunday  clothes.  I  don't 
know  why  I  did,  either.  I  certainly  don't  consider  the 
festival  important." 

"I  am  glad  you  did.  I  have  been  a  little  troubled  about 
you  of  late,  Boy.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  you  were 
growing — well,  not  careless,  exactly,  but  indifferent.  As 
if  you  were  losing  interest  in  life.  I  don't  blame  you. 
Compelled  to  waste  your  time  here  in  the  country,  a 
companion  to  a  bedridden  old  woman  like  me." 

"Hush,  Mother.  You're  not  old;  and  as  to  wasting 
my  time — why,  Mother,  you  know " 

"Yes,  yes,  Boy,  I  know  what  you  would  say.  But  it 
does  trouble  me,  nevertheless.  I  ought  to  bid  you  go 
back  into  the  world,  and  take  your  place  among  men.  A 
hundred  times  I  have  been  upon  the  point  of  telling  you 
to  leave  me,  but — but — I  am  so  selfish." 

"Hush,  Mother,  please." 

"Yes,  I  am  selfish  and  I  know  it.  I  am  growing 
stronger  every  day ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Just  a  little  longer, 
Roscoe,  just  a  little  longer,  and  then " 

"Mother,  I " 

"There,  there !"  she  stroked  my  hand.  "We  won't  be 
sad,  will  we.  It  pleases  me  to  see  you  taking  an  interest 
in  affairs.  I  think  this  Shore  Lane  matter  may  be  a  good 
thing,  after  all.  Dorinda  says  that  Luther  tells  her  you 
are  becoming  very  popular  in  town  because  of  your 
independent  stand.  Everyone  recognizes  your  public 
spirit." 

"Did  she  tell  you  that?" 

"Not  in  those  words.  You  know  Dorinda.  But  what 
amounts  to  that.  I  am  sure  the  Denboro  people  are  very 
proud  of  you." 

121 


THE    RISE   OF    ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  thought  of  my  "popularity"  and  the  admiration  of  my 
"public  spirit"  as  manifested  in  the  attentions  of  Captain 
Jed  and  Eldredge  and  their  followers,  and  I  turned  my 
head  away  so  that  she  might  not  see  my  face. 

"And  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  the  strawberry  fes 
tival.  I  can't  remember  when  you  attended  such  a  func 
tion  before.  Boy " 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"There  isn't  any  reason,  any  special  reason,  for  your 
going,  is  there? 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean — well,  you  are  young  and  I  did  not  know  but, 
perhaps,  some  one  else  was  going,  some  one  you  were  in 
terested  in,  and — and " 

I  laughed  aloud.     "Mother!"  I  said,  reproachfully. 

"Why  not?  I  am  very  proud  of  my  handsome  boy, 
and  I  know  that " 

"There !  there !  I  haven't  noticed  that  my  beauty  is 
so  fascinating  as  to  be  dangerous.  No,  Mother,  there  is 
no  'special  reason'  for  my  going  to-night.  I  promised 
Georgt  Taylor,  that  was  all." 

"Well,  I  am  sure  you  will  have  a  good  time.  Kiss  me, 
Boy.  Good-night." 

I  was  by  no  means  so  sure  of  the  good  time.  In  fact, 
I  loitered  on  my  way  to  the  village  and  it  was  well  past 
eight  o'clock  when  I  paid  my  fifteen  cents  admission  fee 
to  Elnathan  Mullet  at  the  gate  of  the  church  grounds 
and  sauntered  up  the  slope  toward  the  lights  and  gaiety 
of  the  strawberry  festival. 

The  ladies  of  the  Methodist  society,  under  whose  man 
agement  the  affair  was  given,  were  fortunate  in  their 
choice  of  an  evening.  The  early  risen  moon  shone  from 
a  cloudless  sky  and  there  was  so  little  breeze  that  the 
Japanese  lanterns,  hung  above  the  tables,  went  out  only 

122 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

occasionally.  The  "beauty  and  elite  of  Denboro" — see 
next  week's  Cape  Cod  Item — were  present  in  force  and, 
mingling  with  them,  or,  if  not  mingling,  at  least  inspect 
ing  them  with  interest,  were  some  of  the  early  arrivals 
among  the  cottagers  from  South  Denboro  ami  Bayport. 
I  saw  Lute,  proudly  conscious  of  his  new  lavender  trou 
sers,  in  conversation  with  Matilda  Dean,  and  I  wondered 
who  was  the  winner  in  that  wordy  race.  Captain  Jede- 
diah  strutted  arm  in  arm  with  the  minister.  Thoph  New- 
comb  and  Alvin  Baker  were  there  with  their  wives.  Sim 
eon  Eldredge  had  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance  but  I 
knew  that  he  would  as  soon  as  the  evening  mail  was 
sorted. 

I  found  Nellie  Dean  in  charge  of  a  table,  and  George 
Taylor  seated  at  that  table.  I  walked  over  and  joined 
them. 

"Good  evening,  Nellie,"  said  I.  "Well,  George,  here  I 
am,  you  see." 

He  shook  my  hand  heartily.  "I  see  you  are,"  he  said. 
"Good  boy !  How  does  it  seem  to  splash  into  society  ?" 

"I  haven't  splashed  yet.    I  have  only  just  arrived." 

"Oh,  trying  the  feel  of  the  water,  hey?  Guess  you 
won't  find  it  very  chilly.  As  a  preparatory  tonic  I'd  rec 
ommend  strawberries  and  cream.  Nellie,  get  Ros  a 
saucer  of  those  genuine  home-raised  berries,  why  don't 
you?" 

Nellie  laughed.  "Roscoe,"  she  said,  "isn't  he  dreadful ! 
He  knows  we  bought  these  berries  in  Boston.  It's  much 
too  early  for  the  native  ones.  But  they  really  are  very 
nice,  though  he  does  make  such  fun  of  them." 

She  went  into  the  vestry  to  get  the  berries  and  I  sat 
down  at  the  table  beside  Taylor  and  looked  about  me. 

"Most  everybody's  here,"  he  observed.  "And  they'll  be 
glad  to  see  you,  Ros.  Get  out  and  shake  hands  and  be 

123 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

sociable,  after  you've  done  your  duty  by  the  fruit.    How 
are  things  at  home?" 

"Mother  is  herself  again,  I  am  glad  to  say.  George,  I 
have  scarcely  thought  of  anything  except  what  you  told 
me  the  other  night." 

"Then  it's  time  you  did.  That's  one  reason  why  I 
wanted  you  to  come  here.  You've  been  thinking  too 
much  about  yourself." 

"It  isn't  of  myself,  but  of  Mother.  If  you  had  dropped 
a  hint  when  that  Boston  reporter  came " 

"Now,  look  here,  Ros,  would  you  have  dropped  hints 
if  things  had  been  the  other  way  around?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  know  you  wouldn't.  What's  the  use  of  giving  the 
Denboro  gossip  mill  a  chance  to  run  over  tims?  Great 
heavens !  it  works  twelve  hours  a  day  as  'tis." 

"It  was  mighty  good  of  you,  just  the  same." 

"No,  it  wasn't.  The  whole  affair  was  your  business 
and  nobody  else's." 

"Well,  as  I  said  before,  if  ever  I  have  an  oppc-Ytunity 
to  do  as  much  for  you — not  that  I  ever  will." 

"How  do  you  know  you  won't?  Anybody's  liable  to 
be  gossiped  about  some  time  or  other." 

"Not  you.  You  are  Denboro's  shining  light.  The 
mothers  and  fathers  here  point  you  out  as  an  example 
of  what  industry  and  ambition  and  honest  effort  may 
rise  to.  I " 

"Shut  up!"  He  said  it  almost  savagely.  "There!" 
he  added,  quickly,  "let's  change  the  subject.  Talk  aboui, 
something  worth  while.  Humph!  I  guess  they  must 
be  opening  another  crate  of  those  Boston  'home 
growns,'  judgin'  by  the  time  it  takes  Nellie  to  get  your 
sample/' 

"I  am  in  no  hurry.    How  are  affairs  at  the  bank  ?" 

124 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Oh,  so,  so.  Don't  know  a  good  man  who  wants  a 
job,  do  you?  Henry  Small's  going  to  leave  the  middle 
of  next  month." 

"Small,  the  bookkeeper?    Why?" 

"Got  a  better  chance  up  to  the  city.  I  don't  blame 
him.  Don't  tell  anybody  yet ;  it's  a  secret.  Say,  Ros,  do 
you  know  of  a  good,  sharp,  experienced  fellow?" 

I  smiled.  "Is  it  likely?"  I  asked.  "How  large  is  my 
acquaintance  among  sharp,  experienced  fellows  down 
here?" 

"Not  so  large  as  it  ought  to  be,  I'll  give  in  to  that. 
But  you  know  one." 

"Do  I,  indeed?    Who  is  he?" 

"Yourself.  You  wouldn't  take  Small's  job,  would 
you  ?" 

"I?"    I  laughed  aloud. 

"It's  no  joke.  You've  had  a  lot  of  banking  experience. 
I've  heard  about  it  among  my  city  friends,  who  don't 
know  I  know  you.  Course  I  realize  the  place  is  way  be 
neath  what  you  ought  to  have,  but " 

"Oh,  don't  be  sarcastic.    No,  thank  you,  George." 

"All  right,  if  you  say  so.  But  I  meant  it.  You  don't 
need  the  salary,  I  know.  But — Ros,  do  you  mind  if  I 
talk  plain  for  a  moment?" 

I  wondered  what  was  coming  now.  "No,"  I  answered. 
"Go  ahead  and  talk." 

"Well  then,  I  tell  you,  as  a  friend,  that  'twould  be  a 
good  thing  for  you  if  you  did  take  that  job,  or  some 
other  one.  Don't  make  much  matter  what  it  is,  but  you 
ought  to  do  something.  You're  too  clever  a  fellow  to  be 
hanging  around,  shooting  and  fishing.  You're  wasting 
your  life." 

"That  was  wasted  long  ago." 

"No,  it  wasn't.     But  it  will  be  if  you  don't  change 

125 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

pretty  soon.  I  tell  you  you  ought  to  get  interested  in 
something  that  counts.  You  might  make  a  big  name  for 
yourself  yet." 

'That's  enough  of  that.  I  have  a  name  already.  You 
know  it,  and  you  know  what  was  made  of  it." 

"You  didn't  make  it  that  kind  of  a  name,  did  you? 
And  you're  young  enough  to  make  it  something  alto 
gether  different.  You  ought  to.  You  owe  it  to  your 
mother  and  you  owe  it  to  yourself.  As  it  is,  if  you  keep 
on,  you'll " 

"George,  you've  said  enough.  No  one  but  you  would 
have  been  permitted  to  say  as  much.  You  don't  under 
stand." 

"Maybe  not,  but,  Ros,  I  don't  like  to  have  people 
around  here  call  you " 

"I  don't  care  a  continental  what  they  call  me.  I  don't 
want  them  to  know  who  I  am,  but  for  public  opinion  gen 
erally  I  care  nothing." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  His  face  was  in  shadow 
and  I  could  not  see  it,  but  his  tone  was  grave  enough. 

"You  think  you  don't,"  he  said,  slowly,  "but  there  may 
come  a  time  when  you  will.  There  may  come  a  time 
when  you  get  so  interested  in  something,  or  some  person, 
that  the  thought  of  what  folks  would  say  if — if  anything 
went  wrong  would  keep  you  awake  night  after  night. 
Oh,  I  tell  you,  Ros —  Hello,  Nellie !  thought  you'd  gone 
South  to  pick  those  berries  yourself.  Two  saucers  full ! 
Well,  I  suppose  I  must  eat  the  other  to  save  it — unless 
Ros  here  wants  both." 

I  said  one  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  the  present,  and 
we  three  chatted  until  Mrs.  Dean  came  over  and  monop 
olized  the  chat. 

"Don't  go,  Roscoe,"  protested  the  matron.  "The 
Cap'n's  here  and  he'll  want  to  talk  to  you.  He's  dreadful 

126 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

interested  in  you  just  now.    Don't  talk  about  nobody  else, 
scurcely.     You  set  still  and  I'll  go  fetch  him." 

But  I  refused  to  "set."  I  knew  the  cause  of  Captain 
Jedediah's  interest,  and  what  he  wished  to  talk  about. 
I  rose  and  announced  that  I  would  stroll  about  a  bit, 
Taylor  spoke  to  me  as  I  was  leaving. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "you  think  of  what  I  told 
you,  will  you?" 

I  saw  a  group  of  people  hurrying  toward  the  entrance 
of  the  grounds  and  I  followed  them,  curious  as  to  the 
cause  of  the  excitement.  An  automobile  had  stopped  by 
the  gate.  Sim  Eldredge  came  hastening  up  and  seized 
me  by  the  arm. 

"Gosh !  it's  Ros,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  mysterious  whis 
per.  "I  hadn't  seen  you  afore ;  just  got  here  myself.  But 
I'm  glad  you  are  here.  I'll  see  that  you  and  him  get  a 
chance  to  talk  private." 

"Who?"  I  asked,  trying  to  pull  my  arm  free. 

"Why,  Mr.  Colton.  Didn't  you  know  ?  Yes,  sir,  that's 
his  car.  He's  come  and  so's  his  daughter  and  that  young 
Carver  feller.  I  believe  they've  come  to  take  in  the  so 
ciable.  There  they  be!  See  'em!  See  'em!" 

I  saw  them.  Colton  and  Victor  had  already  alighted 
and  Miss  Colton  was  descending  from  the  tonneau. 
There  were  two  other  men  in  the  car,  beside  Oscar,  the 
chauffeur. 

"Who  are  those  other  people  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  whispered  Sim,  excitedly.  "Stay 
where  you  be  and  I'll  find  out.  I'll  be  right  back,  now. 
Don't  you  move." 

I  did  not  move,  not  because  he  had  ordered  me  to  stay 
where  I  was,  but  because  I  was  curious.  The  spot  where 
I  stood  was  in  shadow  and  I  knew  they  could  not  see 
me. 

127 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Colton  and  his  daughter  were  talking  with  Victor,  who 
remained  by  the  step  of  the  auto. 

"Well,  Mabel,"  observed  "Big  Jim,"  "here  we  are, 
though  why  I  don't  know.  I  hope  you  enjoy  this  thing 
more  than  I  am  likely  to." 

"Of  course  I  shall  enjoy  it,  Father.  Look  at  the  dec 
orations.  Aren't  they  perfectly  wonderful!" 

"Especially  the  color  scheme/'  drawled  Victor. 
"Mabel,  I  call  your  attention  to  the  red,  blue  and  purple 
lanterns.  Some  class?  Yes?  Well,  I  must  go.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  very  short  time.  If  Parker  wasn't 
starting  for  Europe  to-morrow  I  shouldn't  think  of 
leaving,  but  I'm  sure  you'll  forgive  me,  under  the  cir 
cumstances." 

"I  forgive  you,  Victor,"  replied  the  girl,  carelessly. 
"But  don't  be  too  long." 

"No,  don't,"  added  her  father.  "I  promised  Mrs.  Col- 
ton  that  I  should  not  be  away  more  than  an  hour.  She's 
very  nervous  to-night  and  I  may  be  sent  for  any  time. 
So  don't  keep  us  waiting." 

"No  fear  of  that.  I'll  be  back  long  before  you  are 
ready  to  go.  I  wouldn't  miss  this — er — affair  myself  for 
something.  Ah,  our  combination  friend,  the  undertaking 
postmaster." 

Sim's  hat  was  in  his  hand  and  he  was  greeting  Mr. 
Colton. 

"Proud  to  see  you  amongst  us,  sir,"  said  Sim,  with 
unction.  "The  Methodist  folks  are  havin'  quite  a  time 
to-night,  ain't  they?" 

"How  d'ye  do,  Eldredge,"  was  the  great  man's  salu 
tation,  not  at  all  effusive.  "Where  does  all  this  crowd 
come  from?  Didn't  know  there  were  so  many  people  in 
the  neighborhood." 

"'Most  everybody's  out  to-night.  Church'll  make  con- 

128 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

sider'ble  money.  Good  evenin',  Miss  Colton.  Mr.  Car 
ver,  pleased  to  meet  you  again,  sir." 

The  young  lady  merely  nodded.  Victor,  whose  foot 
Was  on  the  step  of  the  car,  did  not  deign  to  turn. 

"Thanks,"  he  drawled.  "I  am— er — embalmed,  I'm 
sure.  All  ready,  Phil.  Let  her  go,  Oscar." 

The  auto  moved  off.  Mr.  Colton  gave  his  arm  to  his 
daughter  and  they  moved  through  the  crowd,  Eldredge 
acting  as  master  of  ceremonies. 

"It's  all  right,  Elnathan,"  ordered  Sim,  addressing  the 
gate-keeper.  "Don't  bother  Mr.  Colton  about  the  admis 
sion  now.  I'll  settle  with  you,  myself,  later.  Now,  Mr. 
Colton,  you  and  the  lady  come  right  along  with  me. 
Ain't  met  the  minister  yet,  have  you?  He  said  you 
wan't  to  home  when  he  called.  And  you  let  me  get 
you  some  strawberries.  They're  fust-rate,  if  I  do  say  it." 

He  led  the  way  toward  the  tables.  I  watched  the 
progress  from  where  I  stood.  It  was  interesting  to  see 
how  the  visitors  were  treated  by  the  different  groups. 
Some,  like  Sim,  were  gushing  and  obsequious.  A  few, 
Captain  Jed  among  them,  walked  stubbornly  by,  either 
nodding  coldly  or  paying  no  attention.  Others,  like 
George  Taylor  and  Doctor  Quimby,  were  neither  obse 
quious  nor  cold,  merely  bowing  pleasantly  and  saying, 
"Good  evening,"  as  though  greeting  acquaintances  and 
equals.  Yes,  there  were  good  people  in  Denboro,  quiet, 
unassuming,  self-respecting  citizens. 

One  of  them  came  up  to  me  and  spoke. 

"Hello,  Ros,"  said  Captain  Elisha  Warren,  "Sim's 
havin'  the  time  of  his  life,  isn't  he?" 

"He  seems  to  be,"  I  replied. 

"Yes.  Well,  there's  some  satisfaction  in  havin'  a  thick 
shell ;  then  you  don't  mind  bein'  stepped  on.  Yet,  I 
don't  know;  sometimes  I  think  fellers  of  Sim's  kind  en- 

129 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

joy  bein'  stepped  on,  provided  the  boot  that  does  it  is 
patent  leather." 

"I  wonder  why  they  came  here,"  I  mused. 

"Who  ?  the  Coltons  ?  Why,  for  the  same  reason  chil 
dren  go  to  the  circus,  I  shouldn't  wonder — to  laugh  at 
the  clowns.  I  laugh  myself  sometimes — though  'tain't 
always  at  their  kind  of  clowns.  Speakin'  of  that,  young 
Carver's  in  good  company  this  evenin',  ain't  he?" 

"Who  were  those  fellows  in  the  auto?"  I  asked. 

"Didn't  you  recognize  them?  One  was  Phil  Somers — • 
son  of  the  rich  widow  who  owns  the  big  cottage  at  Har- 
niss.  "Pother  is  a  bird  of  the  same  flock  down  visitin' 
'em.  Carver's  takin'  'em  over  to  Ostable  to  say  good-by 
to  another  specimen,  a  college  mate,  who  is  migratin'  to 
Europe  to-morrow.  The  chauffeur  told  Dan,  my  man, 
about  it  this  afternoon.  The  chauffeur  figgered  that, 
knowin'  the  crowd,  'twas  likely  to  be  a  lively  farewell. 
Hello !  there's  Abbie  hailin'  me.  See  you  later,  Ros." 

I  knew  young  Somers  by  reputation.  He  and  his 
friends  were  a  wild  set,  if  report  was  true. 

Eldredge  had  hinted  that  he  intended  arranging  an 
interview  between  Colton  and  myself.  The  prospect  did 
not  appeal  to  me.  At  first  I  decided  to  go  home  at  once, 
but  something  akin  to  Captain  Dean's  resentful  stubborn 
ness  came  over  me.  I  would  not  be  driven  home  by 
those  people.  I  found  an  unoccupied  camp  chair — one 
of  Sim's,  which  he  rented  for  funerals — and  carried  it  to 
a  dark  spot  in  the  shrubbery  near  the  border  of  the  par 
sonage  lawn  and  not  far  from  the  gate.  There  I  seated 
myself,  lit  a  cigar  and  smoked  in  solitude. 

Elnathan  Mullet,  evidently  considering  his  labors  as 
door-keeper  over,  was  counting  his  takings  by  lantern 
light.  The  moon  was  low  in  the  west  and  a  little  breeze 
was  now  stirring  the  shrubbery.  It  was  very  warm  for 

130 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  season  and  I  mentally  prophesied  thunder  showers 
before  morning. 

I  had  smoked  my  cigar  perhaps  half  through  when  a 
carriage  came  down  the  road  and  stopped  before  the 
gate.  The  driver  leaned  forward  and  called  to  Mullet. 

"Hi,  Uncle !"  he  shouted.  "You,  by  the  gate !  Is  Mr. 
Colton  here?" 

Elnathan,  who  was,  apparently,  half  asleep,  looked  up. 

"Hey?"  he  queried.  "Mr.  Colton?  Yes,  he's  here. 
Want  him,  do  you?" 

"Yes.    Where  is  he?" 

"Up  yonder  somewheres.  There  he  is,  by  Sarah  Bur 
gess's  table.  Mr.  Colton!  Mr.  Col — ton!  Somebody 
wants  ye !" 

"What  in  blazes  did  you  yell  like  that  for?"  protested 
the  coachman,  springing  from  the  carriage.  "Stop  it, 
d'ye  hear?" 

"You  said  you  wanted  him,  didn't  you?  Mr.  Colton! 
Hi!  Come  here!" 

Colton  came  hurrying  down  to  the  gate,  his  daughter 
following  more  slowly. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

The  coachman  touched  his  hat. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said;  "this  man  started 
yelling  before  I  could  stop  him.  I  was  coming  to  tell 
you.  Mrs.  Colton  says  she's  very  nervous,  sir,  and 
please  come  home  at  once." 

Colton  turned  with  a  shrug  to  his  daughter.  "We 
might  have  expected  it,  Mabel,"  he  said.  "Come." 

But  the  young  lady  seemed  to  hesitate.  "I  believe  I 
won't  go  yet,  Father,"  she  said.  "Mother  doesn't  need 
both  of  us.  Victor  will  be  here  very  soon,  and  we 
promised  to  wait  for  him,  you  know." 

"We  can  leave  word.     You'd   better  come,   Mabel 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Heavens  and  earth !  you  don't  want  any  more  of  this,  do 
you?" 

It  was  evident  that  he  had  had  quite  enough  of  the 
festival.  She  laughed  lightly. 

"I'm  finding  it  very  entertaining,"  she  said.  "I  never 
saw  so  many  quaint  people.  There  is  one  girl,  a  Miss 
Dean,  whom  I  am  really  getting  acquainted  with.  She's 
as  country  as  can  be,  but  she's  very  interesting." 

"Humph !  she  must  be.  Dean,  hey  ?  Daughter  of  my 
particular  friend,  the  ancient  mariner,  I  suppose.  I  don't 
like  to  leave  you  here.  What  shall  I  tell  your  mother?" 

"Tell  her  I  am  quite  safe  and  in  perfectly  respectable 
company." 

"Humph!  I  can  imagine  how  respectable  she'll  think 
it  is.  Well,  I  know  it's  useless  to  urge  if  you  have  made 
up  your  mind.  I  don't  see  where  you  get  your  stubborn 
ness  from." 

"Don't  you?    I  can  guess." 

"It  isn't  from  your  dad.  Now  do  be  careful,  won't 
you?  If  Victor  doesn't  come  soon  I  shall  send  the  car 
riage." 

"Oh,  he  will  come.  It's  all  right,  Father,  dear.  I  am 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  myself." 

Her  father  shook  his  head.  "Yes,"  he  observed,  "I 
guess  you  are.  All  right,  Jenkins." 

He  got  into  the  carriage  and  was  driven  off.  Miss 
Colton  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  tables.  I  relit  my 
cigar. 

Another  half-hour  passed. 

Mullet  finished  his  counting,  took  up  his  money  box 
and  lantern  and  left  the  gate  unguarded.  Groups  of 
home-going  people  began  to  come  down  the  hill.  Horses, 
which  had  been  standing  under  the  church  sheds  or 
hitched  in  neighboring  yards,  appeared  and  the  various 

132 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

buggies  and  two-seaters  to  which  they  were  attached 
were  filled  and  driven  away.  Captain  Warren  and  Miss 
Abbie  Baker,  his  housekeeper,  were  among  the  first  to 
leave.  Abijah  Hammond,  the  sexton,  began  taking 
down  the  lanterns.  The  strawberry  festival  was  almost 
over. 

I  rose  from  my  camp  chair  and  prepared  to  start  for 
home.  As  I  stepped  from  behind  the  shrubbery  the 
moonlight  suddenly  went  out,  as  if  it  had  been  turned 
off  like  a  gas  jet.  Except  for  the  few  remaining  lan 
terns  and  the  gleams  from  the  church  windows  and  door 
the  darkness  was  complete.  I  looked  at  the  western  sky. 
It  was  black,  and  low  down  along  the  horizon  flashes  of 
lightning  were  playing.  My  prophecy  of  showers  was 
to  be  fulfilled. 

The  ladies  of  the  Methodist  Society,  assisted  by  their 
husbands  and  male  friends,  were  hurrying  the  tables  and 
chairs  indoors.  I  picked  up  and  folded  the  chair  I  had 
been  occupying  and  joined  the  busy  group.  It  was  so 
dark  that  faces  were  almost  invisible,  but  I  recognized 
Sim  Eldredge  by  his  voice,  and  George  Taylor  and  I 
bumped  into  each  other  as  we  seized  the  same  table. 

"Hello,  Ros !"  exclaimed  the  cashier.  "Thought  you'd 
gone.  Going  to  have  a  tempest,  ain't  we." 

"Tempest"  is  Cape  Cod  for  thunderstorm.  I  agreed 
that  one  was  imminent. 

"Hold  on  till  I  get  this  stuff  into  the  vestry,"  contin 
ued  Taylor,  "and  I'll  drive  you  home.  I'll  be  ready 
pretty  soon." 

I  declined  the  invitation.  "I'll  walk,"  I  answered. 
"You  have  Nellie  to  look  after.  If  you  have  a  spare  um 
brella  I'll  borrow  that.  Where  is  Nellie?" 

"Oh,  she's  over  yonder  with  Miss  Colton.  They  have 
been  making  each  other's  acquaintance.  Say,  Ros,  she's 

133 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

a  good  deal  of  a  girl,  that  Colton  one,  did  you  know  it  ?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Oh,  I  know  you're  down  on  the  whole  lot  of  'em,"  he 
added,  laughing;  "but  she  is,  just  the  same.  Kind  of 
top-lofty  and  condescending,  but  that's  the  fault  of  her 
bringing-up.  She's  all  right  underneath.  Too  good  for 
that  Carver  cub.  By  the  way,  if  he  doesn't  come  pretty 
soon  I'll  phone  her  pa  to  send  the  carriage  for  her.  If 
I  was  Colton  I  wouldn't  put  much  confidence  in  Car 
ver's  showing  up  in  a  hurry.  You  saw  the  gang  he  was 
with,  didn't  you  ?  They  don't  get  home  till  morning,  till 
daylight  doth  appear,  as  a  usual  thing.  Hello!  that's  the 
carriage  now,  ain't  it?  Guess  papa  wasn't  taking  any 
chances." 

Sure  enough,  there  were  the  lights  of  a  carriage  at  the 
gate,  and  I  heard  the  voice  of  Jenkins,  the  coachman, 
shouting.  Nellie  Dean  called  Taylor's  name  and  he  hur 
ried  away.  A  few  moments  later  he  returned. 

"She's  off,  safe  and  sound,"  he  said.  "I  judged  she 
wasn't  any  too  well  pleased  with  her  Victor  for  not 
showing  up  to  look  out  for  her." 

A  sharp  flash  of  lightning  cut  the  sky  and  a  rattling 
peal  of  thunder  followed. 

"Right  on  top  of  us,  ain't  it!"  exclaimed  George. 
"Sure  you  don't  want  me  to  drive  you  home  ?  All  right ; 
just  as  you  say.  Hold  on  till  I  get  you  that  umbrella. ' 

He  borrowed  an  umbrella  from  the  parsonage.  I  took 
it,  thanked  him,  and  hastened  out  of  the  church  grounds. 
I  looked  up  the  road  as  I  passed  through  the  gate.  I 
could  have  seen  an  auto's  lamps  for  a  long  distance,  but 
there  were  none  in  sight.  With  a  malicious  chuckle  I 
thought  that  my  particular  friend  Victor  was  not  taking 
the  surest  way  of  making  himself  popular  with  his  fiancee, 
if  that  was  what  she  was. 

134 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

The  storm  overtook  me  before  I  was  half-way  down 
the  Lower  Road.  A  few  drops  of  rain  splashed  the 
leaves.  A  lightning  stroke  so  near  and  sharp  that  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  the  hiss  was  accompanied  by  a  sav 
age  thunder-clap.  Then  came  the  roar  of  wind  in  the 
trees  by  the  roadside  and  down  came  the  rain.  I  put 
up  my  umbrella  and  began  to  run.  We  have  few  "tem 
pests"  in  Denboro,  those  we  do  have  are  almost  worthy 
of  the  name. 

I  had  reached  the  grove  of  birches  perhaps  two  hun 
dred  yards  from  the  Shore  Lane  when  out  of  the  wet 
darkness  before  me  came  plunging  a  horse  drawing  a 
covered  carriage.  I  had  sprung  to  one  side  to  let  it  go 
by  when  I  heard  a  man's  voice  shouting,  "Whoa !"  The 
voice  did  not  come  from  the  carriage  but  from  the  road 
behind  it. 

"Whoa !    Stop  him !"  it  shouted. 

I  jumped  back  into  the  road.  The  horse  saw  me  ap 
pear  directly  in  front  of  him,  shied  and  reared.  The 
carriage  lamps  were  lighted  and  by  their  light  I  saw  the 
reins  dragging.  I  seized  them  and  held  on.  It  was  all 
involuntary.  I  was  used  to  horses  and  this  one  was 
frightened,  that  was  all. 

"Whoa,  boy !"  I  ordered.    "Whoa !   Stand  still !" 

The  horse  had  no  intention  of  standing  still. 

He  continued  to  rear  and  plunge.  I,  clinging  to  the 
reins,  found  myself  running  alongside.  I  had  to  run 
to  avoid  the  wheels.  But  I  ran  as  slowly  as  I  could,  and 
my  one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds  made  running,  on 
the  animal's  part,  a  much  less  easy  exercise. 

The  voice  from  the  rear  continued  to  shout  and,  in  an 
other  moment,  a  man  seized  the  reins  beside  me.  To 
gether  we  managed  to  pull  the  horse  into  a  walk.  Then 
the  man,  whom  I  recognized  as  the  Colton  coachman, 

135 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

vented  his  feelings  in  a  comprehensive  burst  of  profanity. 

I  interrupted  the  service. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  this  blessed — "or  words  to  that  effect — "horse  is 
scared  of  thunder;  that's  all.  He's  a  new  one;  we  just 
bought  him  before  we  came  down  here  and  I  hadn't 
learned  his  little  tricks.  Whoa !  stand  still,  or  I'll  break 
your  dumb  neck!  Say,"  turning  to  me,  "go  back,  will 
you,  and  see  if  she's  all  right." 

"Who?" 

"Miss  Colton — the  old  man's  daughter.  She  got  out 
when  he  began  to  dance  and  I  was  holding  him  by  the 
bridle.  Then  came  that  big  flash  and  he  broke  loose. 
Go  back  and  see  to  her,  will  you?  I  can't  leave  this 
horse." 

For  just  a  moment  I  hesitated.  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
hesitation  now,  but  this  is  supposed  to  be  a  truthful 
chronicle.  Then  I  went  back  down  the  road.  By  an 
other  flash  of  lightning  I  saw  the  minister's  umbrella  up 
side  down  in  the  bushes  where  I  had  dropped  it,  and  I 
took  it  with  me.  I  was  about  as  wet  as  I  well  could  be 
but  I  am  glad  to  say  I  remembered  that  the  umbrella  was 
a  borrowed  one. 

After  I  had  walked,  or  stumbled,  or  waded  a  little  way 
I  stopped  and  called. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  called.    "Where  are  you?" 

"Here,"  came  the  answer  from  just  ahead.  "Is  that 
you,  Jenkins?" 

I  did  not  reply  until  I  reached  her  side. 

"You  are  not  hurt  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  not  at  all.     But  who  is  it?" 

"I  am — er — your  neighbor.    Paine  is  my  name." 

"Oh !"  the  tone  was  not  enthusiastic.  "Where  is  Jen 
kins?" 

136 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"He  is  attending  to  the  horse.  Pardon  me,  Miss  Col- 
ton,  but  won't  you  take  this  umbrella  ?" 

This  seemed  to  strike  her  as  a  trifle  absurd.  "Why, 
thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  am  afraid  an  umbrella 
would  be  useless  in  this  storm.  Is  the  horse  all  right?" 

"Yes,  though  he  is  very  much  frightened.    I " 

I  was  interrupted  by  another  flash  and  terrific  report 
from  directly  overhead.  The  young  lady  came  closer  to 
me. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed. 

I  had  an  idea.  The  flash  had  made  our  surroundings 
as  light  as  day  for  an  instant  and  across  the  road  I  saw 
Sylvanus  Snow's  old  house,  untenanted,  abandoned  and 
falling  to  decay.  I  took  Miss  Colton's  arm. 

"Come!"  I  said. 

She  hung  back.    "Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"Just  across  the  road  to  that  old  house.  On  the  porch 
we  shall  be  out  of  the  rain." 

She  made  no  further  objections  and  together  we 
stumbled  through  the  wet  grass  and  over  Sylvanus's 
weed-grown  flower  beds.  I  presume  I  shall  never  again 
smell  the  spicy  fragrance  of  "old  maids'  pinks"  without 
thinking  of  that  night. 

I  found  the  edge  of  the  piazza,  by  the  direct  process 
of  barking  my  shins  against  it,  and  helped  her  up  on  to 
the  creaking  boards.  My  sanguine  statement  that  we 
should  be  out  of  the  rain  proved  not  quite  true.  There 
was  a  roof  above  us,  but  it  leaked.  I  unfurled  the  wet 
umbrella  and  held  it  over  her  head. 

For  some  moments  after  we  reached  the  piazza,  neither 
of  us  spoke.  The  roar  of  the  rain  on  the  shingles  of  the 
porch  and  the  splash  and  gurgle  all  about  us  would  have 
made  conversation  difficult,  even  if  we  had  wished  to 
talk.  I,  for  one,  did  not.  At  last  she  said: 

137 


THE  RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Do  you  see  or  hear  anything  of  Jenkins  ?" 

I  listened,  or  tried  to.  I  was  wondering  myself  what 
had  become  of  the  coachman. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  don't  hear  him." 

"Where  do  you  suppose  he  is?  He  could  not  have 
been  far  away  when  you  met  him." 

"He  was  not.  And  I  know  he  intended  to  come  back 
at  once." 

"You  don't  suppose  Caesar — the  horse — ran  away 
again?  When  Ithat  second  crack  came?" 

I  was  wondering  that  very  thing.  That  particular 
thunder  clap  was  louder  and  more  terrifying  than  those 
preceding  it.  However,  there  was  no  use  in  alarming 
her. 

"I  guess  not,"  I  answered.  "He'll  be  here  soon,  I  am 
sure." 

But  he  did  not  come.  The  storm  seemed  to  be  passing 
over.  The  flashes  were  just  as  frequent,  but  there  was 
a  longer  interval  between  each  flash  and  its  thunder  peal. 
The  rain  was  still  a  steady  downpour. 

Miss  Colton  was  plainly  growing  more  anxious. 

"Where  can  he  be?"  she  murmured. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  I  urged.  "He  is  all  right. 
I'll  go  and  look  him  up,  if  you  don't  mind  being  left 
alone." 

"Can't — can't  we  go  together?" 

"We  could,  of  course,  but  there  is  no  use  in  your  get 
ting  wetter  than  you  are.  If  you  are  willing  to  stay  here 
I  will  run  up  the  road  and  see  if  I  can  find  him." 

"Thank  you.     But  you  will  get  wet  yourself." 

"Oh,  I  am  wet  already.  Take  the  umbrella.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute." 

I  pressed  the  handle  of  the  umbrella  into  her  band 
it  was  as  steady  as  mine — and  darted  out  into  the  flood. 

138 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  think  she  called  me  to  come  back,  but  I  did  not  obey. 
I  ran  up  the  road  until  I  was  some  distance  beyond  the 
point  where  I  had  stopped  the  runaway,  but  there  were 
no  signs  of  horse,  carriage  or  coachman.  I  called  re 
peatedly,  but  got  no  reply.  Then,  reluctantly,  I  gave  it 
up  and  returned  to  the  porch. 

She  gave  a  little  gasp  of  relief  when  I  reached  her 
side. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "did  you  fincLWp?" 

"No,"  I  answered.  "He  seems  to  hlFvfe  gone  on.  He 
cannot  have  gone  far.  It  is  only  a  little  way  to  the 
Corners." 

"Is — isn't  there  a  house,  a  house  with  people  living  in 
it,  near  this  place?" 

"No  nearer  than  your  house,  Miss  Colton.  We  seem 
to  have  chosen  the  most  forsaken  spot  in  Denboro  to  be 
cast  away  in.  I  am  very  sorry." 

"I  am  not  frightened  for  myself.  But  I  know  my 
father  and  mother  will  be  alarmed  if  I  don't  come  soon. 
I  am  sure  Caesar  must  have  run  away  again,  and  I  am 
afraid  Jenkins  must  be  hurt." 

I  had  thought  of  that,  too.  Only  an  accident  could 
explain  the  coachman's  non-appearance  or,  at  least,  his 
not  sending  help  to  his  mistress. 

"If  you  are  really  not  afraid  to  remain  here,  Miss 
Colton,"  I  said,  "I  will  go  to  your  house  myself." 

"Oh  no!  Some  one  will  come  soon.  I  can't  under 
stand  where  Victor — Mr.  Carver — can  be.  He  was  to 
have  joined  me  at  the  church." 

I  did  not  answer.  Knowing  Mr.  Carver's  associates 
and  the  errand  upon  which  he  had  gone,  I  imagined  I 
could  guess  the  cause  of  his  delay.  But  I  did  not  speak 
my  guess. 

"The  storm  is  not  as  severe  just  now,"  I  said.     "I 

139 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

can  get  to  your  house  in  a  little  while,  if  you  are  willing 
I  should  leave  you." 

She  put  her  hand  on  ray  arm.  "Come,"  she  said. 
"Shall  we  start  now?" 

"But  you  must  not  go.  You  couldn't  get  there  on  foot, 
such  a  night  as  this." 

"Yes,  I  can.    I  mean  to.    Please  come." 

I  still  hesitated.  She  took  her  hand  from  my  arm  and 
stepped  out  into  the  rain.  "Are  you  coming?"  she  said. 

I  joined  her,  still  protesting.  We  splashed  on  through 
the  mud  and  water,  she  clinging  lightly  to  my  arm  and  I 
holding  the  perfectly  useless  umbrella  over  her  head. 
The  rain  was  descending  steadily  and  the  sky  overhead 
was  just  black,  but  along  the  western  horizon,  as  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it  between  the  trees,  I  fancied  the 
blackness  was  a  little  less  opaque.  The  storm  was  pass 
ing  over,  sure  enough. 

But  before  it  passed  it  gave  us  one  goodby  salute. 
We  had  about  reached  the  point  on  the  Shore  Lane  where 
I  first  met  her  and  Carver  in  the  auto.  The  shaky  bridge 
over  Mullet's  cranberry  brook  was  just  ahead.  Then, 
without  warning,  the  black  night  split  wide  open,  a 
jagged  streak  of  fire  shot  from  heaven  to  earth  and 
seemed  to  explode  almost  in  our  faces.  I  was  almost 
knocked  off  my  feet  and  my  fingers  tingled  as  if  I  had 
been  holding  the  handles  of  an  electric  battery.  The  um 
brella  flew  out  of  my  hands  and,  so  far  as  I  was  con 
cerned,  vanished  utterly.  I  believe  Elnathan  picked  up 
the  ruin  next  day,  but  just  then  I  neither  knew  nor  cared 
what  had  become  of  it.  I  had  other  things  to  think  of. 

But  for  a  moment  I  could  not  think  at  all.  I  was  con 
scious  of  a  great  crashing  and  rustling  and  splintering 
directly  in  front  of  me  and  then  I  realized  that  the  young 
lady  was  no  longer  clinging  to  my  arm.  I  looked  about 

140 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

and  up  through  the  darkness.  Then  down.  She  was 
lying  at  my  feet. 

I  bent  over  her. 

"Miss  Colton!"  I  cried.  "Miss  Colton!  Are  you 
hurt?" 

She  neither  answered  nor  moved.  My  brain  was  still 
numb  from  the  electric  shock  and  I  had  a  dazed  fear 
that  she  might  be  dead.  I  shook  her  gently  and  she 
moaned.  I  spoke  again  and  again,  but  she  did  not  an 
swer,  nor  try  to  rise.  The  rain  was  pouring  down  upon 
us  and  I  knew  she  must  not  lie  there.  So  once  more, 
just  as  I  had  done  in  the  dingy,  but  now  under  quite  dif 
ferent  circumstances  and  with  entirely  different  feelings, 
I  stooped  and  lifted  her  in  my  arms. 

My  years  of  outdoor  life  in  Denboro  had  had  one  good' 
effect  at  least ;  they  had  made  me  strong.  I  carried  her 
with  little  effort  to  the  bridge.  And  there  I  stopped.  The 
bridge  was  blocked,  covered  with  a  mass  of  wet  leafy 
branches  and  splintered  wood.  The  lightning  bolt  had 
missed  us  by  jwst  that  much.  It  had  overthrown  and 
demolished  the  big  willow  tree  by  the  brook  and  to  get 
through  or  over  the  tangle  was  impossible. 

So  again  history  repeated  itself.  I  descended  the  bank 
at  the  side  of  the  bridge  and  waded  through  the  waters 
with  Mabel  Colton  in  my  arms.  I  staggered  up  the  op 
posite  bank  and  hurried  on.  She  lay  quiet,  her  head 
against  my  shoulder.  Her  hat  had  fallen  off  and  a  wet, 
fragrant  strand  of  her  hair  brushed  my  cheek.  Once  I 
stopped  and  bent  my  head  to  listen,  to  make  sure  that 
she  was  breathing.  She  was,  I  felt  her  breath  upon  my 
face.  Afterwards  I  remembered  all  this ;  just  then  I  was 
merely  thankful  that  she  was  alive. 

I  had  gone  but  a  little  way  further  when  she  stirred 
in  my  arms  and  spoke. 

141 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked.     "What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing,"  I  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "It  is 
all  right.  We  shall  be  there  soon." 

"But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Why  are  you — let  me  walk, 
please." 

"You  had  better  stay  as  you  are.  You  are  almost 
home." 

"But  why  are  you  carrying  me?    What  is  the  matter?'* 

"You— you  fainted,  I  think.    The  lightning " 

"Oh  yes,  I  remember.  Did  I  faint  ?  How  ridiculous ! 
Please  let  me  walk  now.  I  am  all  right.  Really  I  am." 

"But  I  think " 

"Please.    I  insist." 

I  set  her  gently  on  her  feet.  She  staggered  a  little, 
but  she  was  plucky  and,  after  a  moment,  was  able  to 
stand  and  walk,  though  slowly. 

"You  are  sure  you  can  manage  it?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course!  But  why  did  I  faint?  I  never  did  such 
a  thing  before  in  my  life." 

"That  flash  was  close  to  us.  It  struck  the  big  willow 
by  the  brook." 

"Did  it!    As  near  as  that?" 

"Yes.     Don't  try  to  talk." 

"But  I  am  all  right  ...  I  am  not  hurt  at  all. 
Are  we  almost  home  ?" 

"Yes.    Those  are  the  lights  of  your  house  ahead  there." 

We  moved  on  more  rapidly.  As  we  turned  In  at  the 
Colton  walk  she  said,  "Why ;  it  has  stopped  raining." 

It  had,  though  I  had  not  noticed  it.  The  flash  which 
smashed  the  willow  had  been  the  accompaniment  of  what 
Lute  would  call  the  "clearing-up  shower."  The  storm 
was  really  over. 

We  stepped  up  on  the  portico  of  the  big  house  and  I 
rang  the  bell.  The  butler  opened  the  door.  His  face, 

142 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

as  he  saw  the  pair  of  dripping,  bedraggled  outcasts  before 
him,  was  worth  looking  at.  He  was  shocked  out  of  his 
dignity. 

"Why!  Why,  Miss  Mabel!"  he  stammered,  with  al 
most  human  agitation.  "What " 

A  voice,  a  petulant  female  voice,  called  from  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"Johnson,"  it  quavered,  "who  is  it?  Mabel,  is  that 
you  ?" 

The  library  door  flew  open  and  Mr.  Colton  himself  ap 
peared. 

"Eh?  What?"  he  exclaimed.  "By  George!  Mabel, 
where  have  you  been?  I  have  been  raising  heaven  and 
earth  to  locate  you.  The  'phone  seems  to  be  out  of  order 
and — Great  Scott,  girl!  you're  wet  through.  Jenkins, 
what—?  Hey?  Why,  it  isn't  Jenkins !" 

The  fact  that  his  daughter's  escort  was  not  the  coach 
man  had  just  dawned  upon  him.  He  stared  at  me  in 
irate  bewilderment.  Before  he  could  ask  a  question  or 
his  daughter  could  speak  or  explain  there  came  a  little 
shriek  from  the  stairs,  a  rustle  of  silken  skirts,  and 
a  plump,  white-faced  woman  in  an  elaborate  house 
gown  rushed  across  the  hall  with  both  white  arms  out 
stretched. 

"Mabel !"  she  cried,  "where  have  you  been.  You  poor 
child!  I  have  been  almost  beside  myself,  and " 

Miss  Colton  laughingly  avoided  the  rush.  "Take  care, 
Mother,"  she  warned.  "I  am  very  wet." 

"Wet  ?  Why !  you're  absolutely  drenched !  Jenkins — 
Mabel,  where  is  Jenkins?  And  who  is  this — er — per 
son?" 

I  thought  it  quite  time  for  me  to  withdraw. 

"Good  night,  Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  and  stepped  toward 
the  door.  But  "Big  Jim"  roared  my  name. 

143 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"It's  that— it's  Paine!"  he  exclaimed.  "Here!  what 
does  this  mean,  anyway?" 

I  think  his  daughter  was  about  to  explain,  when  there 
came  another  interruption.  From  the  driveway  sounded 
the  blare  of  an  auto  horn.  Johnson  threw  open  the  door 
just  as  the  big  car  whirled  up  to  the  porch. 

"Here  we  are!"  laughed  Carver,  emerging  from  be 
hind  the  drawn  curtains  of  the  machine.  "Home  again 
from  a  foreign  shore.  Come  in,  fellows,  and  have  a 
drink.  We've  had  water  enough  for  one  night. 
Come  in." 

He  stumbled  as  he  crossed  the  sill,  recovered  his  bal 
ance,  laughed,  and  then  all  at  once  seemed  to  become 
aware  of  the  group  in  the  hall.  He  looked  about  him, 
swaying  a  little  as  he  did  so. 

"Ah,  Mabel !"  he  exclaimed,  genially.  "Got  here  first, 
didn't  you  ?  Sorry  I  was  late,  but  it  was  all  old  Parker's 
fault.  Wouldn't  let  us  say  goodby.  But  we  came  some 
when  we  did  come.  The  bridge  is  down  and  we  made 
Oscar  run  her  right  through  the  water.  Great  ex-ex 
perience.  Hello!  Why,  what's  matter?  Who's  this? 
What  ?  it's  Reuben,  isn't  it !  Mabel,  what  on  earth " 

She  paid  no  attention  to  him.  I  was  at  the  door  when 
she  overtook  me. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  grateful  for  your 
kindness.  Both  for  what  you  have  done  to-night  and  for 
your  help  the  other  afternoon.  Thank  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  I  took  it,  scarcely  knowing 
that  I  did  so. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  again.  I  murmured  something 
or  other  and  went  out.  As  I  stepped  from  the  porch  I 
heard  Victor's  voice. 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.    "Mabel!" 

I  looked  back.  He  was  standing  by  the  door.  She 

144 


THE  RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

went  past  him  without  replying  or  even  looking  at  him. 
From  the  automobile  I  heard  smothered  chuckles  and  ex 
clamations.  The  butler  closed  the  door. 

I  walked  home  as  fast  as  I  could.  Dorinda  was  wait 
ing  up  for  me.  What  she  said  when  she  saw  the  ruin  of 
my  Sunday  suit  had  better  not  be  repeated.  She  was 
still  saying  it  when  I  took  my  lamp  and  went  up  to  bed. 


145 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  strawberry  festival  and  the  "tempest"  were, 
of  course,  the  subjects  most  discussed  at  the 
breakfast  table  next  morning.  Lute  monop 
olized  the  conversation,  a  fact  for  which  I  was 
thankful,  for  it  enabled  me  to  dodge  Dorinda's  ques 
tions  as  to  my  own  adventures.  I  did  not  care 
to  talk  about  the  latter.  My  feelings  concerning 
them  were  curiously  mixed.  Was  I  glad  or  sorry 
that  Fate  had  chosen  me  to  play  once  more  the  role  of 
rescuer  of  a  young  female  in  distress  ?  That  my  playing 
of  the  role  had  altered  my  standing  in  Mabel  Colton's 
mind  I  felt  reasonably  sure.  Her  words  at  parting  with 
me  rang  true.  She  was  grateful,  and  she  had  shaken 
hands  with  me.  Doubtless  she  would  tell  her  father  the 
whole  story  and  he,  too,  in  common  decency,  would  be 
grateful  to  me  for  helping  his  daughter.  But,  after  all, 
did  I  care  for  gratitude  from  that  family?  And  what 
form  would  that  gratitude  take?  Would  Colton,  like 
Victor  Carver,  offer  to  pay  me  for  my  services?  No, 
hardly  that,  I  thought.  He  was  a  man  of  wide  experi 
ence  and,  if  he  did  offer  payment,  it  would  be  in  some 
less  crude  form  than  a  five  dollar  bill. 

But  I  did  not  want  payment  in  any  form.  I  did  not 
want  condescension  and  patronizing  thanks.  I  did  not 
want  anything — that  was  it.  Up  to  now,  the  occupants 
of  the  big  house  and  I  had  been  enemies,  open  and  con 
fessed.  I  had,  so  far  as  possible,  kept  out  of  their  way 

146 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

and  hoped  they  would  keep  out  of  mine.  But  now  the 
situation  was  more  complicated.  I  did  not  know  what 
to  expect.  Of  course  there  was  no  chance  of  our  becom 
ing  friends.  The  difference  in  social  position,  as  they 
reckoned  it,  made  that  too  ridiculous  to  consider  as  a 
possibility,  even  if  I  wished  it,  which  I  distinctly  did  not. 
But  something,  an  interview,  awkward  and  disagree 
able  for  both  sides,  or  a  patronizing  note  of  thanks,  was, 
at  the  very  least,  certain  to  follow  the  happenings  of  the 
previous  night.  I  wished  I  had  gone  home  when  the 
Cottons  first  came  to  the  festival.  I  wished  I  had  not 
promised  Taylor  that  I  would  attend  that  festival.  I 
wished — I  wished  a  great  many  things.  The  thought 
of  young  Carver's  public  snubbing  before  his  friends 
was  my  one  unmixed  satisfaction.  I  rather  imagined 
that  he  was  more  uncomfortable  than  I  was  or  could  be. 

Lute  crowed  vaingloriously  over  his  own  good  judg 
ment  in  leaving  for  home  early. 

"I  don't  know  how  'twas,"  he  declared.  "Somethin' 
seemed  to  tell  me  we  was  in  for  a  turrible  tempest.  I 
was  settin'  talkin'  with  Alvin  Baker  and  eatin'  my  sec 
ond  sasser  of  berries,  when " 

"Second  sasser?"  interrupted  Dorinda,  sharply. 
"Where'd  you  get  money  for  two  sassers?  I  gave  you 
thirty  cents  when  you  started  for  that  festival.  It  cost 
you  fifteen  to  get  inside  the  gate,  and  Matildy  Dean 
told  me  the  church  folks  was  cal'latin'  to  charge  fifteen 
for  a  helpin'  of  berries  and  cream.  And  you  had  two 
sassers,  you  say.  Who  paid  for  the  second  one?" 

Her  husband  swallowed  half  a  cup  of  coffee  before 
replying.  Then  his  reply  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question. 

"I  don't  know  how  'twas,"  he  went  on.  "I  just  had  the 
feelin',  that's  all.  Sort  of  a  present — presentuary,  I 

147 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

guess,  come  over  me.  I  looked  up  at  the  sky  and  'twas 
gettin'  black,  and  then  I  looked  to  the  west-ard  and  I  see 
a  flash  of  lightnin'.  'Nothin'  but  heat  lightnin'/  says 
Alvin.  'Heat  lightnin'  nothin'!'  says  I,  'I  tell  you " 

"Who  paid  for  that  second  sasser  of  berries?''  re 
peated  his  wife,  relentlessly. 

"Why  now,  Dorindy " 

"Who  paid  for  'em?  If  'twas  Alvin  Baker  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  spongin'  on  him  for  your  vit- 
tles." 

"Alvin !  Good  land !  did  you  ever  know  him  to  pay 
for  anything  he  didn't  have  to?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  know.  Did  you  get  trusted  for 
'em?  How  many  times  have  I  told  you " 

"I  never  got  trusted.  I  ain't  that  kind.  And  I  didn't 
sponge  'em,  neither.  I  paid  cash,  right  out  of  my  own 
pocket,  like  a  man." 

"You  did !  Um-hm.  I  want  to  know !  Well  then — 
man,  where  did  the  cash  in  that  pocket  come  from?" 

Lute  squirmed.     "I — I "  he  stammered. 

"Where  did  it  come  from?    Answer  me." 

"Well — well,  Dorindy,  you  see — when  you  sent  me  up 
to  the  store  t'other  day  after  the  brown  sugar  and — 
and  number  50  spool  cotton  you  give  me  seventy-five 
cents.  You  remember  you  did,  yourself." 

"Yes,  and  I  remember  you  said  there  was  a  hole  in 
your  pocket  and  you  lost  the  change.  I  ain't  likely  to 
forget  it,  and  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  be." 

"I  didn't  forget.  By  time!  my  ears  ain't  done  singin' 
yet.  But  that  shows  how  reckless  you  talk  to  me.  I 
never  lost  that  change  at  all.  I  found  it  afterwards  in 
my  vest,  so  all  your  jawin'  was  just  for  nothin'.  Ros, 
she  ought  to  beg  my  pardon,  hadn't  she?  Hadn't  she 
now?" 

148 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Dorinda  saved  me  the  trouble  of  answering. 

"Um-hm !"  she  observed,  dryly.  "Well,  I'll  beg  my 
own  pardon  instead,  for  bein'  so  dumb  as  not  to  go 
through  your  vest  myself.  So  that's  where  the  other 
fifteen  cents  come  from !  I  see.  Well,  you  march  out 
to  the  woodpile  and  chop  till  I  tell  you  to  quit." 

"But,  Dorindy,  I've  got  one  of  my  dyspepsy  spells. 
I  don't  feel  real  good  this  mornin'.  I  told  you  I  didn't." 

"Folks  that  make  pigs  of  themselves  on  stolen  ber 
ries  hadn't  ought  to  feel  good.  Exercise  is  fine  for  dys 
pepsy.  You  march." 

Lute  marched,  and  I  marched  with  him  as  far  as  the 
back  yard.  There  I  left  him,  groaning  before  the  wood 
pile,  and  went  down  to  the  boat  house. 

The  Comfort's  overhauling  was  complete  and  I  had 
launched  her  the  week  before.  Now  she  lay  anchored 
at  the  edge  of  the  channel.  For  the  want  of  something 
more  important  to  do  I  took  down  my  shot  gun  and 
began  to  polish  its  already  glittering  barrels. 

Try  as  I  might  I  could  not  get  the  memory  of  my 
adventure  in  the  "tempest"  out  of  my  head.  I  reviewed 
it  from  end  to  end,  thinking  of  many  things  I  might 
have  done  which,  in  the  light  of  what  followed,  would 
have  been  better  and  more  sensible.  If,  instead  of  leav 
ing  the  coachman,  I  had  remained  to  help  him  with  the 
frightened  horse,  I  should  have  been  better  employed. 
Between  us  we  could  have  subdued  the  animal  and  Miss 
Colton  might  have  ridden  home.  I  wondered  what  had 
become  of  Jenkins  and  the  horse.  I  wondered  if  the 
girl  knew  I  carried  her  through  the  brook.  Victor  had 
said  the  bridge  was  down ;  she  must  know.  I  won 
dered  what  she  thought  of  the  proceeding ;  probably  that 
splashing  about  with  young  ladies  in  my  arms  was  a 
habit  of  mine. 

149 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  told  myself  that  I  did  not  care  what  she  thought. 
I  resolved  to  forget  the  whole  affair  and  to  focus  my 
attention  upon  cleaning  the  gun.  But  I  could  not  forget. 
I  waded  that  brook  a  dozen  times  as  I  sat  there.  I  re 
membered  every  detail;  how  still  she  lay  in  my  arms; 
how  white  her  face  looked  as  the  distant  lightning 
flashes  revealed  it  to  me;  how  her  hair  brushed  my 
cheek  as  I  bent  over  her.  I  was  using  a  wad  of  cot 
ton  waste  to  polish  the  gun  barrel,  and  I  threw  it  into  a 
corner,  having  the  insane  notion  that,  in  some  way,  the 
association  of  ideas  came  from  that  bunch  of  waste.  It — 
the  waste — was  grimy  and  anything  but  fragrant,  as  dif 
ferent  from  the  dark  lock  which  the  wind  had  blown 
against  my  face  as  anything  well  could  be,  but  the  hurry 
with  which  I  discarded  it  proves  my  imbecility  at  that 
time.  Confound  the  girl !  she  was  a  nuisance.  I  wanted 
to  forget  her  and  her  family,  and  the  sulphurous  per 
sonage  to  whose  care  I  had  once  consigned  the  head  of 
the  family  apparently  took  a  characteristic  delight  in 
arranging  matters  so  that  I  could  not. 

The  shot  gun  was,  at  last,  so  spotless  that  even  a  pre 
tense  of  further  cleaning  was  ridiculous.  I  held  it  level 
with  my  eye  and  squi-nted  through  the  barrels. 

"Don't  shoot,"  said  a  voice  from  the  doorway;  "I'll 
come  down." 

I  lowered  the  gun,  turned  and  looked.  "Big  Jim"  Col- 
ton  was  standing  there,  cigar  in  mouth,  cap  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  exactly  as  he 
had  appeared  in  that  same  doorway  when  he  and  I  first 
met.  The  expected  had  happened,  part  of  it  at  least. 
He  had  come  to  see  me;  the  disagreeable  interview  I 
had  foreseen  was  at  hand. 

He  nodded  and  entered  without  waiting  for  an  in 
vitation. 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Morning,"  he  said. 

"Good  morning,"  said  I,  guardedly.  I  wondered  how 
he  would  begin  the  conversation.  Our  previous  meet 
ing  had  ended  almost  in  a  fight.  We  had  been  fighting 
by  proxy  ever  since.  I  was  prepared  for  more  trouble, 
for  haughty  condescension,  for  perfunctory  apology, 
for  almost  anything  except  what  happened.  His  next 
remark  might  have  been  addressed  to  an  acquaintance 
upon  whom  he  had  casually  dropped  in  for  a  friendly 
call. 

"That's  a  good  looking  gun  you've  got  there,"  he 
observed.  "Let's  see  it." 

I  was  too  astonished  to  answer.  "Let's  look  at  it," 
he  repeated,  holding  out  his  hand. 

Mechanically  I  passed  him  the  gun.  He  examined 
it  as  if  he  was  used  to  such  things,  broke  it,  snapped  it 
shut,  tried  the  locks  with  his  thumb  and  handed  it  back 
to  me. 

"Anything  worth  shooting  around  here?"  he  asked, 
pulling  the  armchair  toward  him  and  sitting. 

I  think  I  did  not  let  him  see  how  astonished  I  was 
at  his  attitude.  I  tried  not  to. 

"Why  yes,"  I  answered,  "in  the  season.  Plenty  of 
coots,  some  black  duck,  and  quail  and  partridge  in  the 
woods." 

"That  so!  Peters,  that  carpenter  of  mine,  said  some 
thing  of  the  sort,  I  remember,  but  I  wouldn't  believe  him 
under  oath.  I  could  shoot  him  with  more  or  less  pleas 
ure,  but  there  seems  to  be  no  open  session  for  his  spe 
cies.  Where's  your  launch?" 

"Out  yonder."  I  pointed  to  the  Comfort  at  her  moor 
ings.  He  looked,  but  made  no  comment.  I  rose  and 
put  the  gun  in  the  rack.  Then  I  returned  to  my  chair. 
He  swung  around  in  his  seat  and  looked  at  me. 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well,"  he  said,  grimly,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"the  last  time  you  and  I  chatted  together  you  told  me  to 
go  to  the  devil." 

This  was  quite  true  and  I  might  have  added  that  I 
was  glad  of  it.  But  what  would  be  the  use?  I  did  not 
answer  at  all. 

"I  haven't  gone  there  yet,"  he  continued.  "Came  over 
here  instead.  Got  dry  yet?" 

"Dry?" 

"Yes.  You  were  anything  but  dry  when  I  saw  you 
last  night.  Have  many  such  cloudbursts  as  that  in  these 
parts  ?" 

"Not  many.    No." 

"I  hope  not.  I  don't  want  another  until  I  sell  that 
horse  of  mine.  The  chap  who  stuck  me  with  him  is  a 
friend  of  mine.  He  warranted  the  beast  perfectly  safe 
for  an  infant  in  arms  to  drive  and  not  afraid  of  any 
thing  short  of  an  earthquake.  He  is  a  lovely  liar.  I 
admire  his  qualifications  in  that  respect,  and  hope  to 
trade  with  him  again.  He  bucks  the  stock  market  occa 
sionally." 

He  smiled  as  he  said  it.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
malice  in  his  tone,  but,  if  I  had  been  the  "friend,"  I 
should  have  kept  clear  of  stocks  for  awhile. 

"What  became  of  the  horse  ?"  I  asked. 

"Ran  away  again.  Jenkins  had  just  got  back  into 
the  carriage  when  another  one  of  those  thunder  claps 
started  more  trouble.  The  horse  ran  four  miles,  more 
or  less,  and  stopped  only  when  the  wheels  got  jammed 
between  two  trees.  I  paid  nine  hundred  dollars  for  that 
carriage." 

"And  the  coachman?" 

"Oh,  he  lit  on  his  head,  fortunately,  and  wasn't  hurt. 
Spent  half  the  night  trying  to  find  a  phone  not  out  of 

152 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

commission  but  failed.  Got  home  about  four  o'clock, 
leading  the  horse.  Paine — " 

"Yes?" 

"Of  course  you  know  what  I've  come  here  for.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you." 

"That's  all  right.     You're  welcome." 

"Maybe  I  am,  but  I  am  obliged,  just  the  same.  Not 
only  for  the  help  you  gave  Mabel — my  daughter — last 
night,  but  for  that  business  in  the  bay  the  other  after 
noon." 

So  she  had  told  him  the  whole  story.  Remembering1 
her  last  words,  as  I  left  her  in  the  hall,  I  had  rather 
imagined  she  would. 

"That  didn't  amount  to  anything,"  I  said,  shortly. 

"Why,  yes,  it  did.  It  might  have  amounted  to  a 
whole  lot.  I  asked  Peters  some  questions  about  the 
tides  out  here  and,  from  what  he  said,  I  judge  that  be 
ing  stuck  on  the  shoals  in  a  squall  might  not  be  alto 
gether  a  joke.  Mabel  says  you  handled  the  affair  mighty 
well." 

I  did  not  answer.     He  chuckled. 

"How  did  young  Carver  enjoy  playing  second  fid 
dle?"  he  asked.  "From  what  I've  seen  of  him  he  gen 
erally  expects  to  lead  the  band.  Happy,  was  he?" 

I  remained  silent.    He  smiled  broadly. 

"He  isn't  any  too  happy  this  morning,"  he  went  on. 
"That  young  man  won't  do.  I  never  quoted  him  within 
twenty  points  of  par,  but  Mabel  seemed  to  like  him  and 
her  mother  thought  he  was  the  real  thing.  Mrs.  C. 
couldn't  forget  that  his  family  is  one  of  the  oldest  on 
the  list.  Personally  I  don't  gamble  much  on  families; 
know  a  little  about  my  own  and  that  little  is  enough. 
But  women  are  different.  However,  family  or  not,  he 
won't  do.  I  should  tell  him  so  myself,  but  I  guess  Mabel 

153 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well,"  he  said,  grimly,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"the  last  time  you  and  I  chatted  together  you  told  me  to 
go  to  the  devil." 

This  was  quite  true  and  I  might  have  added  that  I 
was  glad  of  it.  But  what  would  be  the  use?  I  did  not 
answer  at  all. 

"I  haven't  gone  there  yet,"  he  continued.  "Came  over 
here  instead.  Got  dry  yet?" 

"Dry?" 

"Yes.  You  were  anything  but  dry  when  I  saw  you 
last  night.  Have  many  such  cloudbursts  as  that  in  these 
parts  ?" 

"Not  many.     No." 

"I  hope  not.  I  don't  want  another  until  I  sell  that 
horse  of  mine.  The  chap  who  stuck  me  with  him  is  a 
friend  of  mine.  He  warranted  the  beast  perfectly  safe 
for  an  infant  in  arms  to  drive  and  not  afraid  of  any 
thing  short  of  an  earthquake.  He  is  a  lovely  liar.  I 
admire  his  qualifications  in  that  respect,  and  hope  to 
trade  with  him  again.  He  bucks  the  stock  market  occa 
sionally." 

He  smiled  as  he  said  it.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
malice  in  his  tone,  but,  if  I  had  been  the  "friend,"  I 
should  have  kept  clear  of  stocks  for  awhile. 

"What  became  of  the  horse  ?"  I  asked. 

"Ran  away  again.  Jenkins  had  just  got  back  into 
the  carriage  when  another  one  of  those  thunder  claps 
started  more  trouble.  The  horse  ran  four  miles,  more 
or  less,  and  stopped  only  when  the  wheels  got  jammed 
between  two  trees.  I  paid  nine  hundred  dollars  for  that 
carriage." 

"And  the  coachman?" 

"Oh,  he  lit  on  his  head,  fortunately,  and  wasn't  hurt. 
Spent  half  the  night  trying  to  find  a  phone  not  out  of 

152 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

commission  but  failed.  Got  home  about  four  o'clock, 
leading  the  horse.  Paine — " 

"Yes?" 

"Of  course  you  know  what  I've  come  here  for.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you." 

"That's  all  right.     You're  welcome." 

"Maybe  I  am,  but  I  am  obliged,  just  the  same.  Not 
only  for  the  help  you  gave  Mabel — my  daughter — last 
night,  but  for  that  business  in  the  bay  the  other  after 
noon." 

So  she  had  told  him  the  whole  story.  Remembering 
her  last  words,  as  I  left  her  in  the  hall,  I  had  rather 
imagined  she  would. 

"That  didn't  amount  to  anything,"  I  said,  shortly. 

"Why,  yes,  it  did.  It  might  have  amounted  to  a 
whole  lot.  I  asked  Peters  some  questions  about  the 
tides  out  here  and,  from  what  he  said,  I  judge  that  be 
ing  stuck  on  the  shoals  in  a  squall  might  not  be  alto 
gether  a  joke.  Mabel  says  you  handled  the  affair  mighty 
well." 

I  did  not  answer.     He  chuckled. 

"How  did  young  Carver  enjoy  playing  second  fid 
dle?"  he  asked.  "From  what  I've  seen  of  him  he  gen 
erally  expects  to  lead  the  band.  Happy,  was  he?" 

I  remained  silent.    He  smiled  broadly. 

"He  isn't  any  too  happy  this  morning,"  he  went  on. 
"That  young  man  won't  do.  I  never  quoted  him  within 
twenty  points  of  par,  but  Mabel  seemed  to  like  him  and 
her  mother  thought  he  was  the  real  thing.  Mrs.  C. 
couldn't  forget  that  his  family  is  one  of  the  oldest  on 
the  list.  Personally  I  don't  gamble  much  on  families ; 
know  a  little  about  my  own  and  that  little  is  enough. 
But  women  are  different.  However,  family  or  not,  he 
won't  do.  I  should  tell  him  so  myself,  but  I  guess  Mabel 

153 


than  city  people  are  in  theirs,"  I  declared.  "They  resent 
being  ordered  about  as  if  their  opinions  and  wishes 
counted  for  nothing,  and  I  honor  them  for  it." 

"Do,  hey?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Mr.  Colton,  I  tell  you  that  you  are  all 
wrong.  Simply  because  a  man  lives  in  the  country  it 
does  not  follow  that  he  is  a  blockhead.  No  one  in  Den- 
boro  is  rich,  as  you  would  count  riches,  but  plenty  of 
them  are  independent  and  ask  no  help  from  any  one. 
You  can't  drive  them." 

"Can't  I?" 

"No,  you  can't.  And  if  you  want  favors  from  men 
here  you  must  ask  for  them,  not  try  to  bully." 

"I  don't  want  favors.  I  want  to  be  treated  decently, 
that's  all.  When  I  came  here  I  intended  doing  things 
to  help  the  town.  I  should  have  enjoyed  doing  it.  I 
told  some  of  them  so.  Look  at  the  money  I've  spent. 
Look  at  the  taxes  I'll  pay.  Why,  they  ought  to  be  glad 
to  have  me  here.  They  ought  to  welcome  me." 

"So  they  would  if  you  had  not  behaved  as  if  you  were 
what  some  of  them  call  you — 'Emperor  of  New  York'. 
I  tell  you,  Mr.  Colton,  you're  all  wrong.  I  know  the 
people  here." 

"So?  Well,  from  what  I've  been  able  to  learn  about 
you,  you  haven't  associated  with  many  of  them.  You've 
been  playing  a  little  at  the  high  and  mighty  your 
self." 

Chickens  do  come  home  to  roost.  My  attitude  of  in 
difference  and  coldness  toward  my  fellow  citizens  had 
been  misinterpreted,  as  it  deserved  to  be.  George  Tay 
lor  was  right  when  he  said  I  had  made  a  mistake. 

"I  have  been  foolish,"  I  said,  hotly,  "but  not  for  the 
reason  you  suppose.  I  don't  consider  myself  any  better 
than  the  people  here — no,  nor  even  the  equal  of  some 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

of  them.  And,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  you,  Mr.  Col- 
ton,  I  don't  consider  you  that,  either." 

Even  this  did  not  make  him  angry.  He  looked  at  me 
as  if  I  puzzled  him. 

"Say,  Paine,"  he  said,  "what  in  the  world  are  you 
doing  down  in  a  place  like  this?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  that.  You  upset  my  calculations.  I  thought  I 
spotted  you  and  put  you  in  the  class  where  you  be 
longed  when  you  and  I  first  met.  I  can  usually  size 
up  a  man.  You've  got  me  guessing.  What  are  you 
doing  down  here?  You're  no  Rube." 

If  he  intended  this  as  a  compliment  I  was  not  in  the 
mood  to  accept  it  as  such.  I  should  have  told  him  that 
what  I  was  or  was  not  was  no  business  of  his.  But  he 
went  on  without  giving  me  the  opportunity. 

"You've  got  me  guessing,"  he  repeated.  "You  talk 
like  a  man.  The  way  you  looked  out  for  my  daughter 
last  night  and  the  way,  according  to  her  story,  you 
handled  her  and  Victor  the  other  afternoon  was  a  man's 
job.  Why  are  you  wasting  your  life  down  here?" 

"Mr.  Colton,  I  don't  consider " 

"Never  mind.  You're  right ;  that's  your  affair,  of 
course.  But  I  hate  to  quit  till  I  have  the  answer,  and 
nobody  around  here  seems  to  have  the  answer  to  you. 
Ready  to  sell  me  that  land  yet?" 

"No." 

"Going  to  sell  to  the  public-spirited  bunch  ?  Dean  and 
the  rest?" 

"No." 

"You  mean  that?  All  right — all  right.  Say,  Paine,  I 
admire  your  nerve  a  good  deal  more  than  I  do  your 
judgment.  You  must  understand  that  I  am  going  to  close 
that  fool  Lane  of  yours  some  time  or  other." 

157 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Your  understanding  and  mine  differ  on  that  point." 

"Possibly,  but  they'll  agree  before  I'm  through.  I 
am  going  to  close  that  Lane." 

"I  think  not." 

"I'm  going  to  close  it  for  two  reasons.  First,  be 
cause  it's  a  condemned  nuisance  and  ought  to  be  closed. 
Second,  because  I  make  it  a  point  to  get  what  I  go 
after.  I  can't  afford  not  to.  It  is  doing  that  very  thing 
that  has  put  me  where  I  am." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  answer  to  a  state 
ment  like  that.  I  did  not  try  to  answer  it. 

"Where  you're  holding  down  a  job  like  mine,"  he 
continued,  crossing  his  knees  and  looking  out  across 
the  bay,  "you  have  to  get  what  you  go  after.  I'm  down 
here  and  I  mean  to  stay  here  as  long  as  I  want  to,  but  I 
haven't  let  go  of  my  job  by  a  good  deal.  I've  got  private 
wires — telegraph  and  telephone — in  my  house  and  I 
keep  in  touch  with  things  in  the  Street  as  much  as  I 
ever  did.  If  anybody  tries  to  get  ahead  of  the  old  man 
because  they  think  he's  turned  farmer  they'll  find  out 
their  mistake  in  a  hurry." 

This  seemed  to  be  a  soliloquy.  I  could  not  see  how  it 
applied  to  me.  He  went  on  talking. 

"Sounds  like  bragging,  doesn't  it?"  he  said,  reading 
my  thoughts  as  if  I  had  spoken  them.  "It  isn't.  I'm  just 
trying  to  show  you  why  I  can't  afford  not  to  have  my 
own  way.  If  I  miss  a  trick,  big  or  little,  somebody  else 
wins.  When  I  was  younger,  just  butting  into  the  game, 
there  was  another  fellow  trying  to  get  hold  of  a  lead 
mine  out  West  that  I  was  after.  He  beat  me  to  it  at 
first.  He  was  a  big  toad  in  the  puddle  and  I  was  a  lit 
tle  one.  But  I  didn't  quit.  I  waited  round  the  corner. 
By  and  by  I  saw  my  chance.  He  was  in  a  hole  and  I  had 
the  cover  to  the  hole.  Before  I  let  him  out  I  owned  that 

158 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

mine.  It  cost  me  more  than  it  was  worth ;  I  lost  money 
on  it.  But  I  had  my  way  and  he  and  the  rest  had  found 
out  that  I  intended  to  have  it.  That  was  worth  a  lot 
more  than  I  lost  in  the  mine.  Now  this  Lane  proposi 
tion  is  a  little  bit  of  a  thing;  it's  picayune;  I  should  live 
right  along  if  I  didn't  get  it.  But  because  I  want  it,  be 
cause  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  have  it,  I'm  going  to 
have  it,  one  way  or  another.  See?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "This  seems  to  me  like 
wasting  time,  Mr.  Colton,"  I  said. 

"Then  your  seeing  is  away  off.  Look  here,  Paine,  I'm 
through  fiddling  with  the  deal.  I'm  through  with  that 
undertaker  postmaster  or  any  other  go-between.  I  just 
wanted  you  to  understand  my  position;  that's  why  I've 
told  you  all  this.  Now  we'll  talk  figures.  I  might  go  on 
bidding,  and  you'd  go  on  saying  no,  of  course.  But  I 
shan't  bid.  I'll  just  say  this:  When  you  are  ready  to 
sell — and  I'll  put  you  where  you  will  be  some  day " 

I  rose.  "Mr.  Colton,"  I  said,  sharply,  "you  had  bet 
ter  not  say  any  more.  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  and " 

"There!  there!  there!  who  said  anything  about  your 
being  afraid  ?  Don't  get  mad.  I'm  not — not  now.  This 
is  a  business  matter  between  friends  and " 

"Friends!" 

"Sure.  Business  friends.  I'm  talking  to  you  as  I 
would  to  any  other  chap  I  intended  to  beat  in  a  deal; 
there's  nothing  personal  about  it.  When  I  get  you  so 
you're  ready  to  sell  I'll  give  you  five  thousand  dollars 
for  that  strip  of  land." 

I  actually  staggered.    I  said  what  Lute  had  said  to  me. 

"You're  crazy!"  I  cried.  "Five  thousand  dollars  for 
that  land!" 

"Yes.  Oh,  I  know  what  it's  worth.  Five  hundred  is 
for  the  land  itself.  The  other  forty-five  hundred  is  pay- 

159 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ment  for  the  privilege  of  having  my  own  way.     Want 
to  close  with  me  now?" 

It  took  me  some  time  to  answer.  "No,"  is  a  short 
and  simple  word,  but  I  found  it  tremendously  difficult 
to  pronounce.  Yet  I  did  pronounce  it,  I  am  glad  to  say. 
After  all  that  I  had  said  before  I  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  do  anything  else. 

He  did  not  appear  surprised  at  my  refusal. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  coax  you. 
Just  remember  that  the  offer  holds  good  and  when  you 
get  ready  to  accept  it,  sing  out.  Well!"  looking  at  his 
watch,  "I  must  be  going.  My  wife  will  think  I've  fallen 
into  the  bay,  or  been  murdered  by  the  hostile  natives. 
Nerves  are  mean  things  to  have  in  the  house;  you  can 
take  my  word  for  that.  Good-by,  Paine.  Thank  you 
again  for  last  night  and  the  rest  of  it.  Mabel  will  thank 
you  herself  when  she  sees  you,  I  presume." 

He  was  on  his  way  to  the  door  when  I  recovered  pres 
ence  of  mind  sufficient  to  remember  ordinary  polite 
ness. 

"Your  daughter — er — Miss  Colton  is  well?"  I  stam 
mered.  "No  ill  effects  from  her  wetting — and  the 
shock?" 

"Not  a  bit.  She's  one  of  the  kind  of  girls  they  turn 
out  nowadays.  Athletics  and  all  that.  Her  grandmother 
would  have  died  probably,  after  such  an  upset,  but  she's 
as  right  as  I  am.  Oh  .  .  .  er — Paine,  next  time  you 
go  shooting  let  me  know.  Maybe  I'd  like  to  go  along. 
I  used  to  be  able  to  hit  a  barn  door  occasionally." 

He  stopped  long  enough  to  bite  the  end  from  a  cigar 
and  strolled  away,  smoking.  I  sa.t  down  in  the  arm 
chair.  "Five  thousand  dollars !"  .  .  .  "Carver  won't 
do."  ...  "I  will  have  the  Lane  some  time  or  other" 
.  .  .  "Five  thousand  dollars!"  .  .  .  "Next 

160 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

time  you  go  shooting."     .     .     .    "Friends!"     .     .     . 
"Five  thousand  dollars!" 

Oh,  this  was  a  nightmare !    I  must  wake  up  before  it 
got  any  worse. 


161 


CHAPTER  X 

MOTHER  was  the  only  one  to  whom  I  told  the 
whole  story  of  my  experience  in  the  "tempest" 
and  of  Colton's  call.  She  and  I  had  a  long 
talk.  She  was  as  surprised  to  hear  of  the  five  thousand 
dollar  offer  as  I  had  been,  but  that  I  had  refused  it  did 
not  surprise  her.  She  seemed  to  take  my  refusal  as  a 
matter  of  course,  whereas  I  was  more  and  more  doubt 
ful  of  my  sanity  at  the  time.  I  knew  well  enough  what 
the  opinion  of  others  would  be  concerning  that  sanity 
and  I  wondered  whether  or  not  they  might  be  right.  In 
fact,  I  rather  resented  her  calm  certainty. 

"Mother,"  said  I,  "you  speak  as  if  the  offer  had  been 
five  cents  instead  of  five  thousand  dollars." 

"What  difference  does  it  make,  Boy?"  she  asked.  "If 
it  had  been  only  a  matter  of  price  you  would  have  sold 
for  six  hundred  and  fifty.  That  is  a  good  deal  more  than 
the  land  is  worth,  isn't  it." 

"I  suppose  so.  But  five  thousand  is  a  small  fortune 
to  us.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  have  the  right  to  re 
fuse  it." 

"Roscoe,  if  you  were  alone  in  this  matter — if  I  were 
not  here  to  be  considered  at  all — would  you  have  sold 
the  land,  no  matter  what  he  offered?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mother.     I  think,  perhaps,  I  should." 

"I  know  you  would  not.  And  I  know  the  only  reason 
you  feel  the  refusal  may  be  wrong  is  because  you  are 
thinking  what  the  money  might  do  for  me.  Do  you 

162 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

suppose  I  will  permit  you  to  sacrifice  a  principle  you 
know  is  right  simply  that  I  may  have  a  few  more  lux 
uries  which  I  don't  need  ?" 

"But  you  do  need  them.  Why,  there  are  so  many 
things  you  need." 

"No,  I  don't  need  one.  So  long  as  I  have  you  I  am 
perfectly  happy.  And  it  would  not  make  me  more  happy 
to  know  that  you  accepted  a  bribe — that  is  what  it  is,  a 
bribe — because  of  me.  No,  Boy,  you  did  exactly  right 
and  I  am  proud  of  you." 

"I  am  not  particularly  proud  of  myself." 

"You  should  be.  Can't  you  see  how  differently  Mr. 
Colton  regards  you  already  ?  He  does  not  condescend  or 
patronize  now." 

"Humph !  he  is  grateful  because  I  helped  his  daughter 
out  of  a  scrape,  that's  all." 

"It  is  more  than  that.  He  respects  you  because  you 
are  what  he  called  you,  a  man.  I  fancy  it  is  a  new  ex 
perience  to  him  to  find  some  one,  down  here  at  any  rate, 
to  whom  his  millions  make  absolutely  no  difference." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.    It  may  do  him  good." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  will.  And  what  you  told  him  about 
the  townspeople  may  do  him  good,  too.  He  will  find, 
as  you  and  I  have  found,  that  there  are  no  kinder,  better 
people  anywhere.  You  remember  I  warned  you  against 
misjudging  the  Coltons,  Roscoe.  They,  too,  I  am  sure, 
are  good  people  at  heart,  in  spite  of  their  wealth." 

"Mother,  you  are  too  charitable  for  this  earth — too 
unworldly  altogether." 

"Haven't  you  and  I  reason  to  be  charitable?  There! 
there!  let  us  forget  the  land  and  the  money.  Roscoe,  I 
should  like  to  meet  this  Miss  Colton.  She  must  be  a 
brave  girl." 

"She  is  brave  enough." 

163 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  suppose  poor  Mr.  Carver  is  in  disgrace.  Perhaps 
it  was  not  his  fault  altogether." 

This  was  a  trifle  too  much.  I  refused  to  be  charitable 
to  Victor. 

I  heard  from  him,  or  of  him,  next  day.  I  met  Captain 
Jed  Dean  at  the  bank,  where  I  had  called  to  see  Taylor 
and  inquire  concerning  how  he  and  Nellie  got  home 
from  the  festival.  They  had  had  a  damp,  though  safe, 
journey,  I  learned,  and  the  Methodist  ladies  had  cleared 
seventy-four  dollars  and  eighty-five  cents  from  the  en 
tertainment. 

Captain  Jed  entered  the  door  as  I  left  the  cashier's 
gate. 

"Ship  ahoy,  Ros !"  hailed  the  captain,  genially.  "Make 
port  safe  and  sound  after  the  flood?  I'd  have  swapped 
my  horse  and  buggy  for  Noah's  Ark  that  night  and 
wouldn't  have  asked  any  boot  neither.  Did  you  see 
Mullet's  bridge?  Elnathan  says  he  cal'lates  he's  got 
willow  kindlin'  enough  to  last  him  all  summer.  Ready 
split  too — the  lightnin'  attended  to  that.  Lute  Rogers 
don't  talk  about  nothin'  else.  I  cal'late  he  wishes  light 
nin'  would  strike  your  woodpile ;  then  he'd  be  saved  con- 
sider'ble  labor,  hey?" 

He  laughed  and  I  laughed  with  him. 

"I  understood  Princess  Colton  was  out  in  the  wust 
of  it,"  went  on  Captain  Jed.  "Did  you  hear  how  her 
horse  ran  away?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  shortly ;  "I  heard  about  it." 

"Never  stopped  till  it  got  half  way  to  West  Bay- 
port.  The  coachman  hangin'  onto  the  reins  and  swearin' 
at  the  top  of  his  lungs  all  the  time.  'Bije  Ellis,  who 
lives  up  that  way,  says  the  road  smells  like  a  match  fac 
tory  even  yet — so  much  brimstone  in  the  air.  The  girl 
got  home  somehow  or  other,  they  tell  me.  I  cal'late 

164 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

her  fine  duds  got  their  never-get-over.  Nellie  says  the 
hat  she  was  wearin'  come  from  Paris,  or  some  such 
foreign  place.  Well,  the  rain  falls  on  the  just  and  un 
just,  so  scriptur  tells  us,  and  it's  true  enough.  Only  the 
unjust  in  this  case  can  afford  new  hats  better 'n  the  just, 
a  consider'ble  sight.  Denboro's  lost  a  promisin'  new 
citizen;  did  you  know  it?" 

"Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Hadn't  you  heard?  That  young  Carver  feller  shook 
the  dust — the  mud,  I  mean — of  our  roads  off  his  shoes 
this  mornin'.  He  went  away  on  the  up  train." 

Here  was  news.  "The  up  train?"  I  repeated.  "You 
mean  he  has  gone  for  good?" 

"I  should  call  it  for  good,  for  our  good,  anyhow* 
Yes,  he's  gone.  Went  to  the  depot  in  Colton's  automo 
bile.  His  majesty  went  with  him  fur's  the  platform. 
The  gang  that  saw  the  proceedin's  said  the  good-bys 
wan't  affectin'.  Colton  didn't  shed  any  tears  and  young 
Carver  seemed  to  be  pretty  down  at  the  mouth." 

"But  what  makes  you  think  he  has  gone  for  good  ?"  I 
asked. 

"Why,  Alvin  Baker  was  there,  same  as  he  usually  is, 
and  he  managed  to  be  nigh  enough  to  hear  the  last 
words — if  there  had  been  any." 

"And  there  were  not?" 

"Nothin'  to  amount  to  much.  Nothin'  about  cominr 
back,  anyhow.  Colton  said  somethin'  about  bein'  re 
membered  to  the  young  feller's  ma,  and  Carver  said, 
'Thanks,'  and  that  was  all.  Alvin  said  'twas  pretty 
chilly.  They've  got  it  all  figgered  out  at  the  post-office ; 
you  see,  Carver  was  to  come  back  to  the  meetin'  house 
and  pick  up  his  princess,  and  he  never  come.  She  started 
without  him  and  got  run  away  with.  Some  of  the  folks 
paddlin'  home  from  the  festival  saw  the  auto  go  by 

165 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

and  heard  the  crowd  inside  sing-in'  and  laughin'  and 
hollerin'.  Nobody's  goin'  to  sing  a  night  like  that  unless 
they've  got  cargo  enough  below  decks  to  make  'em 
forget  the  wet  outside.  And  Beriah  Doane  was  over  to 
Ostable  yesterday  and  he  says  it's  town  talk  there  that 
young  Parker — the  boy  the  auto  crowd  was  say  in'  good- 
by  to  at  the  hotel — had  to  be  helped  up  to  his  room. 
No,  I  guess  likely  the  Colton  girl  objected  to  her  feller's 
gettin'  tight  and  forgettin'  her,  so  he  and  she  had  a  row 
and  her  dad,  the  emperor,  give  him  his  discharge  papers. 
Sounds  reasonable ;  don't  you  think  so,  yourself  ?" 

I  imagined  that  the  surmise  was  close  to  the  truth. 
I  nodded  and  turned  away.  I  did  not  like  Carver,  I  de 
tested  him,  but  somehow  I  no  longer  felt  triumph  at 
his  discomfiture.  I  wondered  if  he  really  cared  for  the 
girl  he  had  lost.  It  was  difficult  to  think  of  him  as 
really  caring  for  any  one  except  himself,  but  if  I  had 
been  in  his  place  and  had,  through  my  own  foolishness, 
thrown  away  the  respect  and  friendship  of  such  a  girl 
.  .  .  Yes,  I  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  of  Mother's 
charity  for  the  young  idiot,  now  that  he  could  no  longer 
insult  and  patronize  me. 

Captain  Jed  followed  me  to  the  bank  door. 

"Say,  Ros,"  he  said,  "changed  your  mind  about  sellin* 
that  Lane  land  yet?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  impatiently.  "There's  no  use  talk 
ing  about  that,  Captain  Dean." 

"All  right,  all  right.  Humph!  the  fellers  are  gettin' 
consider'ble  fun  out  of  that  Lane." 

"In  what  way?" 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  nothin',"  he  observed,  with  a 
-wink,  "only  .  .  .  Heard  any  extry  hurrahin'  over  to 
your  place  lately?" 

"No.    Captain,  what  do  you  mean?" 

166 


THE    RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  don't  mean  nothin'.  But  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the 
Great  Panjandrum  and  his  folks  was  reminded  that 
that  Lane  was  still  open,  that's  all.  Ho!  ho!  So  long, 
Ros." 

I  did  not  catch  his  meaning  at  the  time.  A  few  days 
later  I  discovered  it  by  accident.  I  had  been  up  to  the 
village  and  was  on  my  way  home  by  the  short  cut.  As  I 
crossed  the  field  behind  Sylvanus  Snow's  abandoned 
house,  the  spot  where  Miss  Colton  and  I  had  waited  on 
the  porch  the  night  of  the  thunder  shower,  I  heard  the 
rattle  of  a  cart  going  down  the  Lane.  There  was  noth 
ing  unusual  in  this,  of  itself,  but  with  it  I  heard  the 
sound  of  loud  voices.  One  of  these  voices  was  so  loud 
that  I  caught  the  words : 

"Now,  boys,  start  her  up!  Three  cheers  for  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  and  make  'em  loud.  Let  her  go !" 

The  cheers  followed,  uproarious  ones. 

"Try  it  again,"  commanded  the  voice.  "And  keep  her 
up  all  the  way  along.  We'll  shake  up  the  'nerves'  I 
guess.  Hooray !" 

This  was  enough.  I  understood  now  what  Dean  had 
meant  by  the  Coltons  realizing  that  the  Lane  was  still 
open.  I  ran  at  full  speed  through  the  scrub  and  bushes, 
through  the  grove,  and  emerged  upon  the  Lane  directly 
opposite  the  Colton  estate.  The  wagon — Zeb  Kendrick's 
weir  cart — was  approaching.  Zeb  was  driving  and  be 
hind  him  in  the  body  of  the  cart  were  four  or  five  young 
fellows  whom  I  recognized  as  belonging  to  the  "billiard 
room  gang,"  an  unorganized  society  whose  members 
worked  only  occasionally  but  were  responsible  for  most 
of  the  mischief  and  disorder  in  our  village.  Tim  Hallet, 
a  sort  of  leader  in  that  society,  with  the  reputation  of 
having  been  expelled  from  school  three  times  and  never 
keeping  a  job  longer  than  a  fortnight,  was  on  the  seat 

167 


THE   RISE    OF    ROSCOE    PAINE 

beside  Kendrick,  his  back  to  the  horse.     Zeb  was  grin 
ning  broadly. 

The  wagon  came  nearer,  the  horse  barely  moving. 
Tim  Hallet  waved  his  arm. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  shouted,  "let's  have  some  music." 
"  'Everybody   works    but    father, 
And  he  sets  around  all  day.' — 

Whoop  her  up!" 

They  whooped  her  up.     I  stepped  out  into  the  road. 

"Here!"  I  shouted.  "Stop  that!  Stop  it,  do  you 
hear !  Kendrick,  what  is  all  this  ?" 

The  song  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  verse.  Zeb 
jerked  the  reins  and  shouted  "Whoa!"  Hallet  and  his 
chorus  turned.  They  had  been  gazing  at  the  big  house, 
but  now  they  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"Hello,  Ros !"  said  Kendrick,  still  grinning,  but  rather 
sheepishly.  "How  be  you?  Got  quite  a  band  aboard, 
ain't  I." 

"Hello !"  cried  Hallet.  "It's  Ros  himself !  Ros,  you're 
all  right!  Hi,  boys!  let's  give  three  cheers  for  the  feller 
that  don't  toady  to  nobody — millionaires  nor  nobody  else 
— hooray  for  Ros  Paine!" 

The  cheering  that  followed  was  not  quite  as  loud  as 
the  previous  outburst — some  of  the  "gang"  may  have 
-noticed  my  attitude  and  expression — but  it  was  loud 
enough.  Involuntarily  I  glanced  toward  the  Colton  man 
sion.  I  saw  no  one  at  the  windows  or  on  the  veranda, 
and  I  was  thankful  for  that.  The  blood  rushed  to  my 
face.  I  was  so  angry  that,  for  the  moment,  I  could  not 
speak. 

Tim  Hallet  appeared  to  consider  my  silence  and  my 
crimson  cheeks  as  acknowledgments  of  the  compliment 
just  paid  me. 

"Cal'late  they  heard  that  over  yonder,"  he  crowed. 

168 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Don't  you  think  so,  Ros.  We've  showed  'em  what  we 
think  of  you ;  now  let's  give  our  opinion  of  them.  Three 
groans  for  old  Colton!  Come  on!" 

Even  Zeb  seemed  to  consider  this  as  going  too  far, 
for  he  protested. 

"Hold  on,  Tim !"  he  cautioned.  "A  joke's  a  joke,  but 
that's  a  little  too  much ;  ain't  it,  Ros." 

"Too  much  be  darned !"  scoffed  Hallet.  "We'll  show 
'em !  Now,  boys !" 

The  groans  were  not  given.  I  sprang  into  the  road, 
seized  the  horse  by  the  bridle  and  backed  the  wagon 
into  the  bank.  Tim,  insecurely  balanced,  fell  off  the  seat 
and  joined  his  comrades  on  the  cart  floor. 

"Hi!"  shouted  the  startled  driver.  "What  you  doin', 
Ros?  What's  that  for?" 

"You  go  back  where  you  come  from,"  I  ordered. 
"Turn  around.  Get  out  of  here!" 

I  saved  him  the  trouble  by  completing  the  turn.  When 
I  dropped  the  bridle  the  horse's  head  was  pointing  to 
ward  the  Lower  Road. 

"Now  get  out  of  here!"  I  repeated.  "Go  back  where 
you  come  from." 

"But — but,  Ros,"  protested  Zeb,  "I  don't  want  to  go 
back.  I'm  goin'  to  the  shore." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  go  some  other  way.  You  can't 
cross  my  property." 

Hallet,  on  his  knees,  looked  out  over  the  seat. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked,  angrily. 
"Didn't  you  say  the  town  could  use  this  Lane?" 

"Yes.  Any  one  may  use  it  as  long  as  he  behaves  him 
self.  When  he  doesn't  behave  he  forfeits  the  privilege. 
Kendrick,  you  hear  me!  Go  back." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  back,  Ros.  If  I  do  I'll  have 
to  go  clear  round  by  My  rick's,  two  mile  out  of  m.v  way." 

169 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that  before  you  brought 
that  crowd  with  you.  I  won't  have  this  Lane  made  a 
public  nuisance  by  any  one.  Zeb,  I'm  ashamed  of 
you." 

Zeb  turned  to  his  passengers.  "There !"  he  whined,  "I 
told  you  so,  Tim.  I  said  you  hadn't  ought  to  act  that 
way." 

"Aw,  what  are  you  givin'  us !"  sneered  Hallet.  "You 
thought  'twas  as  funny  as  anybody,  Zeb  Kendrick.  Look 
here,  Ros  Paine!  I  thought  you  was  down  on  them 
Coltons.  We  fellers  are  only  havin'  a  little  fun  with 
'em  for  bein'  so  stuck-up  and  hoggish.  Can't  you  take 
a  joke?" 

"Not  your  kind.    Go  back,  Zeb." 

"But — but  can't  I  use  the  Lane  no  more  ?"  pleaded  the 
-driver.  "I  won't  fetch  'em  here  agin." 

"We'll  see  about  that.  You  can't  use  it  this  time. 
Now  go." 

Zeb  reluctantly  spoke  to  his  horse  and  the  wagon  be 
gan  to  move.  Hallet  swore  a  string  of  oaths. 

"I'm  on  to  you,  Paine!"  he  yelled.  "You're  standin' 
in  with  'em,  after  all.  You  wait  till  I  see  Captain  Jed." 

In  three  strides  I  was  abreast  the  cart-tail. 

"See  him  then,"  said  I.  "And  tell  him  that  if  any  one 
uses  this  Lane  for  the  purpose  of  wilfully  annoying  those 
living  near  it  I'll  not  only  forbid  his  using  it,  but  I'll 
prosecute  him  for  trespass.  I  mean  that.  Stop!  I 
advise  you  not  to  say  another  word." 

I  did  not  intend  to  prosecute  Jim,  he  was  not  worth 
it,  but  I  should  have  thoroughly  enjoyed  dragging  him 
out  of  that  wagon  and  silencing  him  by  primitive  meth 
ods.  My  anger  had  not  cooled  to  any  extent.  He  did 
not  speak  to  me  again,  though  I  heard  him  muttering 
as  the  cart  moved  off.  I  remained  where  I  was  until  I 

170 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

saw  it  turn  into  the  Lower  Road.  Then  I  once  more 
started  for  home. 

I  was  very  much  annoyed  and  disturbed.  Evidently 
this  sort  of  thing  had  been  going  on  for  some  time  and 
I  had  just  discovered  it.  It  placed  me  in  a  miserable 
light.  When  Colton  had  declared,  as  he  had  in  both  our 
interviews,  that  the  Lane  was  a  nuisance  I  had  loftily  de 
nied  the  assertion.  Now  those  idiots  in  the  village  were 
doing  their  best  to  prove  me  a  liar.  I  should  have  ex 
pected  such  behavior  from  Hallet  and  his  friends,  but 
for  Captain  Dean  to  tacitly  approve  their  conduct  was 
unexpected  and  provoking.  Well,  I  had  made  my  posi 
tion  plain,  at  all  events.  But  I  knew  that  Tim  would 
distort  my  words  and  that  the  idea  of  my  "standing  in" 
with  the  Coltons,  while  professing  independence,  would 
be  revived.  I  was  destined  to  be  detested  and  misunder 
stood  by  both  sides.  Yes,  Dorinda  was  right  in  saying 
that  I  might  find  sitting  on  the  fence  uncomfortable.  It 
was  all  of  that. 

I  entered  the  grove  and  was  striding  on,  head  down, 
busy  with  these  and  similar  reflections,  when  some  one 
said:  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Paine." 

I  stopped  short,  came  out  of  the  day  dream  in  which 
I  had  been  giving  Captain  Jed  my  opinion  of  his  fol 
lowers'  behavior,  looked  up,  and  saw  Miss  Colton  in  the 
path  before  me. 

She  was  dressed  in  white,  a  light,  simple  summer 
gown.  Her  straw  hat  was  simple  also,  expensive  sim 
plicity  doubtless,  but  without  a  trace  of  the  horticul 
tural  exhibits  with  which  Olinda  Cahoon,  our  Denboro 
milliner,  was  wont  to  deck  the  creations  she  prepared 
for  customers.  Matilda  Dean  would  have  sniffed  at  the 
hat  and  gown ;  they  were  not  nearly  as  elaborate  as  those 
Nellie,  her  daughter,  wore  on  Sundays.  But  Matilda  or 

171 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

Nellie  at  their  grandest  could  not  have  appeared  as  well 
dressed  as  this  girl,  no  matter  what  she  wore.  Just 
now  she  looked,  as  Lute  or  Dorinda  might  have  said, 
"as  if  she  came  out  of  a  band  box." 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  again.  She  was  perfectly 
self-possessed.  Remembrance  of  our  transit  of  Mullet's 
cranberry  brook  did  not  seem  to  embarrass  her  in  the 
least.  Nellie  Dean  would  have  giggled  and  blushed,  but 
she  did  not. 

7  was  embarrassed,  I  admit  it,  but  I  had  sufficient 
presence  of  mind  to  remove  my  hat. 

"Good  morning,"  said  I.  There  flashed  through  my 
mind  the  thought  that  if  she  had  been  in  that  grove  for 
any  length  of  time  she  must  have  overheard  my  lively 
interview  with  Kendrick  and  Tim  Hallet.  I  wondered 
if  she  had. 

Her  next  remark  settled  that  question. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  soberly,  but  with  the  same 
twinkle  in  her  eye  which  I  had  observed  once  or  twice 
in  her  father's,  "that  I  should  apologize  for  being  here, 
on  your  property,  Mr.  Paine.  I  judge  that  you  don't  like 
trespassers." 

I  was  more  nettled  at  Zeb  and  his  crowd  than  ever. 
"So  you  saw  that  performance,"  I  said.  "I'm  sorry." 

"I  saw  a  little  of  it,  and  I'm  afraid  I  heard  the  rest.  I 
was  walking  here  by  the  bluff  and  I  could  not  help  see 
ing  and  hearing." 

"Humph !  Well,  I  hope  you  understand,  Miss  Colton, 
that  I  did  not  know,  until  just  now,  this  sort  of  thing 
was  going  on." 

She  smiled.  "Oh,  I  understand  that,"  she  said.  "You 
made  that  quite  plain.  Even  those  people  in  the  wagon 
understood  it,  I  should  imagine." 

"I  hope  they  did." 

172 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  did  not  know  you  could  be  so  fierce,  Mr.  Paine.  I 
had  not  expected  it.  You  almost  frightened  me.  You 
were  so  very — well,  mild  and  long-suffering  on  the  other 
occasions  when  we  met." 

"I  am  not  always  so  mild,  Miss  Colton.  However,  if 
I  had  known  you  were  within  hearing  I  might  not  have 
been  quite  so  emphatic." 

"Then  I  am  glad  you  didn't  know.  I  think  those  ruf 
fians  were  treated  as  they  deserved." 

"Not  half  as  they  deserved.  I  shall  watch  from  now 
on  and  if  there  are  any  more  attempts  at  annoying  you 
or  your  people  I  shall  do  more  than  talk." 

''Thank  you.  They  have  been  troublesome — of  late. 
I  am  sure  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  all  of  us." 

"Not  at  all." 

"Oh  yes,  we  are.  Not  only  for  this,  but  for — all  the 
rest.  For  your  help  the  other  night  especially;  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  that." 

"It  was  nothing,"  I  answered,  awkwardly. 

"Nothing!  You  are  not  very  complimentary,  Mr. 
Paine." 

"I  mean— that  is,  I " 

"You  may  consider  rescuing  shipwrecked  young 
ladies,  afloat  and  ashore,  nothing — perhaps  you  do  it  so 
often  that  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  you ;  but  I  am 
not  so  modest.  I  estimate  my  safety  as  worth  some 
thing,  even  if  you  do  not." 

"I  did  not  mean  that,  of  course,  Miss  Colton.  You 
know  I  did  not.  I  meant  that — that  what  I  did  was  no 
more  than  any  one  else  would  have  done  under  the  same 
circumstances.  You  were  in  no  danger ;  you  would  have 
been  safe  enough  even  if  I  had  not  happened  along. 
Please  don't  say  anything  more  about  it." 

"Very  well.    But  I  am  very  glad  you  happened  along, 

173 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

nevertheless.  You  seem  to  have  the  faculty  of  happen 
ing  along  just  at  the  right  time." 

This  sounded  like  a  reference  to  the  episode  in  the  bay, 
and  I  did  not  care  to  discuss  that. 

"You — I  believe  your  father  said  you  were  not  ill 
after  your  experience,"  I  observed  hastily. 

"Not  in  the  least,  thank  you.    And  you?" 

"Oh,  I  was  all  right.  Rather  wet,  but  I  did  not  mind 
that.  I  sail  and  fish  a  good  deal,  and  water,  fresh  or  salt, 
doesn't  trouble  me." 

This  was  an  unlucky  remark,  for  it  led  directly  to  the 
subject  I  was  trying  to  avoid. 

"So  I  should  imagine,"  she  answered.  "And  that  re 
minds  me  that  I  owe  you  another  debt  of  thanks  for 
helping  me — helping  us  out  of  our  difficulty  in  the  boat. 
I  am  obliged  to  you  for  that  also.  Even  though  what 
you  saved  was  not  worth  five  dollars." 

I  looked  up  at  her  quickly.  She  was  biting  her  lips 
and  there  was  a  smile  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  I 
could  not  answer  immediately  for  the  life  of  me.  I  would 
have  given  something  if  I  had  not  told  Colton  of  Vic 
tor's  message  and  my  reply. 

"Your  father  misrepresented  my  meaning,  I'm  afraid," 
I  stammered.  "I  was  angry  when  I  sent  that  mes 
sage.  It  was  not  intended  to  include  you." 

"Thank  you.  Father  seemed  inclined  to  agree  with 
your  estimate — part  of  it,  at  least.  He  is  very  much 
interested  in  you,  Mr.  Paine." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  dryly.     "I  can  understand  that." 

Her  smile  broke  into  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

"You  are  quite  distinctive,  in  your  way,"  she  said. 
"You  may  not  be  aware  of  it,  but  I  have  never  known 
father  to  be  so  disturbed  and  puzzled  about  any  one  as 
he  is  about  you." 

174 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  he  is,  indeed." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  am  the  cause  of  so  much  mental 
strain." 

"No,  you  are  not.  From  what  I  have  learned  about 
you,  from  him,  I  think  you  enjoy  it.  You  must.  It 
is  great  fun." 

'Tun !  Well,  perhaps.  Does  your — does  Mrs.  Colton 
find  it  funny?" 

She  hesitated.  "Well,"  she  answered,  more  slowly,  "to 
be  perfectly  frank — I  presume  that  is  what  you  want 
me  to  be — I  think  Mother  blames  you  somewhat.  She  is 
not  well,  Mr.  Paine,  and  this  Lane  of  yours  is  her  pet 
bugbear  just  now.  She — like  the  rest  of  us — cannot 
understand  why  you  will  not  sell,  and,  because  you  will 
not,  she  is  rather — rather " 

"I  see.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  blame  her.  I  presume  she 
has  blamed  me  for  these  outrageous  disturbances  in  the 
Lane  such  as  you  have  just  witnessed." 

She  hesitated  again.  "Why  yes,"  she  said,  more  slowly 
still;  "a  little,  I  think.  She  is  not  well,  as  I  said,  and 
she  may  have  thought  you  were,  if  not  instigating  them, 
at  least  aware  of  what  was  going  on.  But  I  am  sure 
father  does  not  think  so." 

"But  you,  Miss  Colton ;  did  you  believe  me  responsible 
for  them?" 

"No." 
"Why  not?" 

"Because,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  you,  you  did  not 
seem  to  me  like  that  kind  of  a  man.  You  kept  your 
temper  that  day  in  the  boat,  though  you  had  a  good  rea 
son  for  losing  it.  All  this,"  with  a  gesture  toward  the 
Lane,  "the  shouting  and  noise  and  petty  insults,  was  so 
little  and  mean  and  common.  I  did  not  believe  you  would 

175 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

permit  it,  if  you  knew.    And,  from  what  I  have  learned 
about  you,  I  was  sure  you  would  not." 

"From  what  you  learned  about  me?  From  your 
father?" 

"No." 

"Then  from  whom,  pray?" 

"From  your  friends.  From  that  Mr.  Taylor  and  Miss 
Dean  and  the  others.  They  spoke  of  you  so  highly,  and  of 
your  mother  and  your  care  of  her.  They  described  you 
as  a  gentleman,  and  no  gentleman  would  countenance 
that." 

I  was  so  astonished  that  I  blurted  out  my  next  ques 
tion  without  thinking. 

"You  were  speaking  to  them  about  me?"  I  cried. 

Her  manner  changed.  Possibly  she  thought  I  was 
presuming  on  our  chance  acquaintance,  or  that  she  made 
a  mistake  in  admitting  even  a  casual  interest ;  I  might 
consider  that  interest  to  be  real,  instead  of  merely  per 
functory.  At  any  rate,  I  noticed  a  difference  in  her 
tone.  It  was  as  if  she  had  suddenly  withdrawn  be 
hind  the  fence  which  marked  the  border  of  our  social 
line. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  carelessly,  "I  did  not  cross-question,  of 
course.  Puzzles  are  always  interesting,  more  or  less. 
And  a  puzzle  which  perplexed  my  father  was  certainly 
unique.  So  I  was  a  trifle  curious,  that's  all." 

I  came  to  earth  with  a  thud. 

"I  see,"  I  said,  curtly.  "Well,  I  presume  I  should 
thank  my  friends  for  the  testimonials  to  my  character. 
And  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  not  be  annoyed  again. 
Good  morning,  Miss  Colton." 

I  was  turning  away  when  she  spoke  my  name. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Miss  Colton." 

176 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  have  not  explained  why  I  was  here,  on  your  land, 
this  morning." 

"That  is  all  right.  You  are  quite  welcome  to  be  here 
at  any  time." 

"Thank  you.  I  told  you  I  was  walking  by  the  bluff; 
that  is  true,  but  it  isn't  the  whole  truth.  I  was  trying 
to  muster  courage  to  call  on  your  mother." 

I  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Call  on  Mother !"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  your  mother, 
and  nothing  except  the  very  best.  I  think  I  should  like 
to  know  her.  Do  you  think  she  would  consider  me  pre 
suming  and  intrusive  if  I  did  call?" 

"Why,  Miss  Colton,  I " 

"Please  be  frank  about  it,  Mr.  Paine.  And  please 
believe  that  my  call  would  not  be  from  idle  curiosity.  I 
should  like  to  know  her.  Of  course,  if  this  disagree 
ment  about  the  land  makes  a  difference,  if  she  feels  re 
sentful  toward  us,  I  will  not  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Does  she?  Why  do  you  smile?  I  am  in  earnest." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  smile,  Miss  Colton.  The  idea  of 
Mother's  feeling  resentment  toward  any  one  seemed  ab 
surd  to  me,  that  was  all." 

"Then  may  I  call  on  her?" 

"Certainly.  That  is,  if — if  you  think  it  wise.  If  your 
mother " 

"Oh,  Mother  has  long  ago  given  up  trying  to  solve 
me.  I  am  a  greater  puzzle  to  her  than  you  seem  to  be 
to  everyone,  Mr.  Paine.  I  have  spoken  to  my  father 
about  it  and  he  is  quite  willing.  His  difference  with  you 
is  purely  a  business  one,  as  you  know." 

Some  of  the  "business"  had  been  oddly  conducted,  but 
I  did  not  raise  the  point.  I  could  not  reason  just  then. 
That  this  spoiled,  city-bred  daughter  of  "Big  Jim"  Col- 

177 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ton  should  wish  to  know  my  mother  was  beyond  rea 
soning. 

She  said  good  morning  and  we  parted.  I  walked  home, 
racking  my  brains  to  find  the  answer  to  this  new  conun 
drum.  It  was  a  whim  on  her  part,  of  course,  inspired 
by  something  George  or  Nellie  had  told  her.  I  did  not 
know  whether  to  resent  the  whim  or  not,  whether  to  be 
angry  or  indifferent.  If  she  intended  to  inspect  Mother 
as  a  possible  object  of  future  charity  I  should  be  angry 
and  the  first  call  would  be  the  last.  But  Mother  herself 
would  settle  all  questions  of  charity ;  I  knew  that.  And 
the  girl  had  not  spoken  in  a  patronizing  way.  She  had 
declared  that  idle  curiosity  had  no  part  in  her  wish.  She 
seemed  in  earnest.  What  would  Mother  say  when  I  told 
her? 

Lute  was  just  coming  through  the  gate  as  I  approached 
it.  He  was  in  high  good  humor. 

"I'm  goin'  up  street,"  he  declared.  "Anything  you 
want  me  to  fetch  you  from  the  store,  Ros  ?" 

I  looked  at  my  watch.    It  was  only  eleven  o'clock. 

"Up  street?"  I  repeated.  "I  thought  you  were  slated 
to  wash  windows  this  forenoon.  I  heard  Dorinda  give 
you  your  orders  to  that  effect.  You  haven't  finished 
washing  them  already?" 

"No,"  with  a  broad  grin,  "I  ain't  finished  'em.  Fact 
is,  I  ain't  begun  'em  yet." 

"So!  Does  Dorinda  know  that  you  are  going  up 
street?" 

"Um-hm.  She  knows.  Anyhow,  she  knows  I'm  goin' 
somewheres.  She  told  me  to  go  herself." 

"She  did!     Why?" 

"Don't  ask  me.  I  was  all  ready  to  wash  the  windows ; 
had  the  bucket  pumped  full  and  everything.  But  when 
I  come  into  the  dinin'-room  she  sung  out  to  know  what 

178 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  was  doin'  with  all  that  water  on  her  clean  floor.  'Why, 
Dorindy !'  I  says,  Tm  a-goin'  to  wash  them  windows 
same's  you  told  me  to.'  'No,  you  ain't/  says  she.  'But 
what  will  I  do?'  says  I.  'I  don't  care,'  says  she.  'Gear 
out  of  here,  that's  all.'  'But  where'll  I  clear  out  to?5  I 
wanted  to  know.  'I  don't  care !'  she  snaps  again,  savage 
as  a  settin'  hen,  'so  long's  you  clear  out  of  my  sight.' 
So  here  I  be.  Don't  ask  me  why  she  changed  her  mind : 
/  don't  know.  Nothin'  you  want  to  the  store?" 

"No." 

"Say,  Ros,  you  know  what  I  think?" 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  presume  to  guess  your  thoughts, 
Lute." 

"Well,  I  think  this  is  a  strange  world  and  the  strang 
est  thing  in  it  is  a  woman.  You  never  can  tell  what 
they'll  do  ten  minutes  at  a  stretch.  I " 

"All  right,  Lute.  I'll  hear  the  rest  of  the  philosophy 
later." 

"Philosophy  or  not,  it's  the  livin'  truth.  And  when 
you're  as  old  as  I  be  you'll  know  it." 

I  went  in  through  the  dining-room,  steering  clear  of 
Dorinda,  who  scarcely  looked  up  from  her  floor  scrub 
bing. 

"Mother,"  said  I,  entering  the  darkened  bedroom,  "I 
just  met  the  Colton  girl  and  what  do  you  suppose  she 
told  me?" 

"That  she  was  very  grateful  to  you  for  coming  to  her 
rescue  the  other  night." 

"That,  of  course.  But  she  told  me  something  else. 
She  said  she  was  coming  to  call  on  you.  On  you, 
Mother !" 

I  don't  know  what  answer  I  expected.  I  flung  the 
announcement  like  a  bombshell  and  was  ready  for  al 
most  any  sort  of  explosion  at  all. 

179 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Did  she?"  observed  Mother,  placidly.  "I  am  very 
glad.  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  like  her." 

My  next  remark  had  nothing  to  do  with  Miss  Colton. 

"Well,  by  George !"  I  exclaimed,  with  emphasis.  "Lute 
is  a  philosopher,  after  all.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  him." 


180 


CHAPTER  XI 

I  MET  Mabel  Colton  several  times  during  the  fol 
lowing  week.  Once,  at  the  place  where  I  had  met 
her  before,  in  the  grove  by  the  edge  of  the  bluff, 
and  again  walking  up  the  Lane  in  company  with  her 
father.  Once  also  on  the  Lower  Road,  though  that 
could  scarcely  be  called  a  meeting,  for  I  was  afoot  and 
she  and  her  father  and  mother  were  in  the  automobile. 

Only  at  the  meeting  in  the  grove  were  words  ex 
changed  between  us.  She  bowed  pleasantly  and  com 
mented  on  the  wonderful  view. 

"I  am  trespassing  again,  you  see,"  she  said.  "Taking 
advantage  of  your  good-nature,  Mr.  Paine.  This  spot  is 
the  most  attractive  I  have  found  in  Denboro." 

I  observed  that  the  view  from  her  verandas  must  be 
almost  the  same. 

"Almost,  but  not  quite,"  she  said.  "These  pines  shut 
off  the  inlet  below,  and  all  the  little  fishing  boats.  One 
of  them  is  yours,  I  suppose.  Which?" 

"That  is  my  launch  there,"  I  replied,  pointing. 

"The  little  white  one?  You  built  it  yourself,  I  think 
Father  said." 

"He  was  mistaken,  if  he  said  that.  I  am  not  clever 
enough  to  build  a  boat,  Miss  Colton.  I  bought  the  Com 
fort,  second-hand." 

I  don't  know  why  I  added  the  "second-hand."  Prob 
ably  because  I  had  not  yet  freed  my  mind  from  the  bit 
terness — yes,  and  envy — which  the  sight  of  this  girl  and 

181 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

her  people  always  brought  with  it.  It  is  comparatively 
easy  to  be  free  from  envy  if  one  is  what  George  Tay 
lor  termed  a  "never-was" ;  for  a  "has  been"  it  is  harder. 

The  boat's  name  was  the  only  portion  of  my  remark 
which  attracted  her  attention. 

"The  Comfort?'  she  repeated.  "That  is  a  jolly  name 
for  a  pleasure  boat." 

"It  is  my  mother's  name,"  I  answered. 

"Is  it?  Why,  I  remember  now.  Miss  Dean  told  me. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Paine.  It  is  a  pretty  name,  at 
all  events." 

"Thank  you." 

"I  must  have  misunderstood  Father.  I  was  sure  he 
said  that  boat  building  was  your  business." 

"No.  He  saw  me  overhauling  the  engine,  and  per 
haps  that  gave  him  the  impression  that  I  was  a  builder. 
I  told  him  I  was  not,  but  no  doubt  he  forgot.  I  have  no 
business,  Miss  Colton." 

I  think  she  was  surprised.  She  glanced  at  me  curi 
ously  and  her  lips  opened  as  if  to  ask  another  question. 
She  did  not  ask  it  however,  and,  except  for  a  casual  re 
mark  or  two  about  the  view  and  the  blueness  of  the 
water  in  the  bay,  she  said  nothing  more.  I  rather  ex 
pected  she  would  refer  to  her  intention  of  calling  on 
Mother,  but  she  did  not  mention  the  subject.  I  inferred 
that  she  had  thought  better  of  her  whim. 

On  the  other  occasions  when  we  met  she  merely 
bowed.  "Big  Jim"  nodded  carelessly.  Mrs.  Colton, 
from  her  seat  in  the  auto,  nodded  also,  though  her  majes 
tic  bow  could  scarcely  be  termed  a  nod.  It  was  more 
like  the  acknowledgment,  by  a  queen  in  her  chariot,  of 
the  applauding  citizen  on  the  sidewalk.  She  saw  me, 
and  she  deigned  to  let  me  know  that  I  was  seen,  that 
was  all. 

182 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

But  when  I  inferred  that  her  daughter  had  forgotten, 
or  had  decided  not  to  make  the  call  at  our  house,  I  mis 
judged  the  young  lady.  I  returned,  one  afternoon,  from 
a  cruise  up  and  down  the  bay  in  the  Comfort,  to  find  our 
small  establishment — the  Rogers  portion  of  it,  at  least — 
in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  Lute  and  Dorinda  were 
in  the  kitchen  and  before  I  reached  the  back  door,  which 
was  open,  I  heard  their  voices  in  animated  discussion. 

"Why  wouldn't  I  say  it,  Dorinda?"  pleaded  Lute. 
"You  can't  blame  me  none.  There  I  was,  with  my 
sleeves  rolled  up  and  just  settin'  in  the  chair,  restin'  my 
arms  a  jiffy  and  thinkin'  which  window  I'd  wash  next, 
when  there  come  that  knock  at  the  door.  Thinks  I,  'It's 
Asa  Peters'  daughter's  young-one  peddlin'  clams.'  That's 
what  come  to  my  mind  fust.  That  idee  popped  right  into 
my  head,  it  did." 

"Found  plenty  of  room  when  it  got  there,  I  cal'late," 
snapped  Dorinda.  "Must  have  felt  lonesome." 

"That's  it !  keep  on  pitchin'  into  me.  I  swan  to  man ! 
sometimes  I  get  so  discouraged  and  wore  out  and  reck 
less — hello !  here's  Ros.  You  ask  him  now !  Ros,  she's 
layin'  into  me  because  I  didn't  understand  what " 

"Roscoe,"  broke  in  his  wife,  "I  never  was  more  morti 
fied  in  all  my  born  days.  He " 

"Let  me  tell  you  all  about  it,  Ros.  I  went  to  the 
door — thinkin'  'twas  a  peddler,  you  know;  had  this  old 
suit  on,  all  sloshed  up  with  soapsuds  and  water,  and  a 
wet  rag  in  my  hand;  and  there  she  stood,  styled  up  like 
the  Queen  of  Sheby.  Well,  sir!  I'll  leave  it  to  you  if 
'tain't  enough  to  surprise  anybody.  Her!  comin'  here!" 

"That  wan't  any  reason  why  you  .should  behave  like 
a  natural  born " 

"Hold  on!  you  let  me  finish  tellin'  Roscoe.  'Good 
afternoon/  says  she.  'Is  Mrs.  Paine  in?  Said  it  just 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

like  that,  she  did.  I  was  so  flustered  up  from  the  sight 
of  her  that  I  didn't  sense  it  right  off  and  I  says,  'What 
ma'am?'  Is  Mrs.  Paine  in?' says  she.  'In?' says  I " 

"Just  like  a  poll  parrot,"  interjected  Dorinda. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  let  me  tell  this  or  ain't  you?  'In?' 
says  I;  hadn't  sensed  it  yet,  you  see.  'Is  Mrs.  Paine  to 
home?'  she  says.  Now  your  ma,  Ros,  ain't  never  been 
nowheres  else  but  home  sence  land  knows  when,  so  I  sup 
posed  she  must  mean  somebody  else.  'Who?'  says  I, 
again.  'Mrs.  Comfort  Paine,'  says  she.  She  raised  her 
voice  a  little;  guessed  I  was  deef,  probably." 

"If  she'd  guessed  you  was  dumb  she  wouldn't  have 
been  fur  off,"  commented  Dorinda.  I  had  not  seen  her 
so  disturbed  for  many  a  day. 

Her  husband  disdained  to  notice  this  interruption. 

"  'Mrs.  Comfort  Paine,'  says  she,"  he  continued.  "  'She 
is  in?'  And  I  says  'In?'"  ' 

"No,  you  didn't.  You  said,  'In  where?5  And  she 
had  all  she  could  do  to  keep  from  laughin'.  I  see  her 
face  as  I  got  to  the  door,  and  it's  a  mercy  I  got  there 
when  I  did.  Land  knows  what  you'd  have  said  next !" 

"But,  Dorindy,  I  tell  you  I  thought " 

"You  thought!  I  know  what  she  must  have  thought. 
That  she'd  made  a  mistake  and  run  afoul  of  an  asylum 
for  the  feeble-minded." 

"Umph!  I  should  have  got  feeble-minded  if  I'd  had 
any  more  of  that  kind  of  talk.  What  made  her  ask 
if  a  sick  woman  like  Comfort  was  'in'  and  'to  home'? 
Couldn't  be  nowheres  else,  could  she?" 

"Rubbish !  she  meant  could  Mrs.  Paine  see  folks,  that's 
all." 

"See  'em !     How  you  talk !     She  ain't  blind." 

"Oh,  my  soul  and  body!  She  was  tryin'  to  ask  if 
she  might  make  a  call  on  Comfort." 

184 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well  then,  why  didn't  she  ask  it;  'stead  of  wantin' 
to  know  if  she  was  in?" 

"That's  the  high-toned  way  to  ask,  and  you'd  ought  to 
have  known  it." 

"Humph !  Do  tell !  Well,  I  ain't  tony,  myself.  Don't 
have  no  chance  to  be  in  this  house.  Nothin'  but  work, 
work,  work!  tongue,  tongue,  tongue!  for  me  around 
here.  I'm  disgusted,  that's  what  I  am." 

"You're  disgusted !    What  about,  me  ?" 

I  had  listened  to  as  much  of  this  little  domestic  dis 
agreement  as  I  cared  to  hear. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  said.  "What  is  all  this?  Who 
has  been  here  to  see  Mother?" 

Both  answered  at  once. 

"That  Colton  girl,"  cried  Lute. 

"That  Mabel  Colton,"  said  Dorinda. 

"Miss  Colton?  She  has  been  here?  this  after 
noon." 

"Um-hm,"  Dorinda  nodded  emphatically.  "She  stayed 
in  your  ma's  room  'most  an  hour." 

"  'Twas  fifty-three  minutes,"  declared  Lute.  "I  timed 
her  by  the  clock.  "And  she  fetched  a  great,  big  bouquet. 
Comfort  says  she " 

I  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  went  into  Mother's 
room.  The  little  bed  chamber  was  fragrant  with  the 
perfume  of  flowers.  A  cluster  of  big  Jacqueminot  roses 
drooped  their  velvety  petaled  heads  over  the  sides  of 
the  blue  and  white  pitcher  on  the  bureau.  Mother  loved 
flowers  and  I  frequently  brought  her  the  old  fashioned 
posies  from  Dorinda's  little  garden  or  wild  blossoms 
from  the  woods  and  fields.  But  roses  such  as  these  were 
beyond  my  reach  now-a-days.  They  grew  in  green 
houses,  not  in  the  gardens  of  country  people. 

Mother  did  not  move  as  I  entered  and  I  thought  she 

185 


was  asleep.     But  as  I  bent  over  the  roses  she  turned 
on  the  pillow  and  spoke. 

"Aren't  they  beautiful,  Roscoe?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.     "They  are  beautiful." 

"Do  you  know  who  brought  them  to  me?" 

"Yes,  Mother.     Lute  told  me." 

"She  did  call,  you  see.  She  kept  her  word.  It  was 
kind  of  her,  wasn't  it  ?" 

I  sat  down  in  the  rocking  chair  by  the  window. 

"Well,"  I  asked,  after  a  moment,  "what  did  she  say? 
Did  she  condescend  to  pity  her  pauper  neighbors?" 

"Roscoe !" 

"Did  she  express  horrified  sympathy  and  offer  to  call 
your  case  to  the  attention  of  her  cousin  in  charge  of  the 
Poor  Ward  in  the  City  General  Hospital,  like  that  woman 
from  the  Harniss  hotel  last  summer  ?" 

"Boy !    How  can  you !" 

"Oh,  well;  I  am  a  jealous  beast,  Mother;  I  admit  it. 
But  I  have  not  been  able  to  bring  you  flowers  like  that 
and  it  galls  me  to  think  that  others  can.  They  don't 
deserve  to  have  all  the  beautiful  things  in  life,  while  the 
rest  of  us  have  none." 

"But  it  isn't  her  fault  that  she  has  them,  is  it?  And 
it  was  kind  to  share  them  with  us." 

"I  suppose  so.  Well,  what  did  she  say  to  you?  Do- 
rinda  says  she  was  with  you  nearly  an  hour.  What  did 
you  and  she  talk  about?  She  did  not  offer  charity,  did 
she?" 

"Do  you  think  I  should  have  accepted  it,  if  she  had? 
Roscoe,  I  have  never  seen  you  so  prejudiced  as  you  are 
against  our  new  neighbors.  It  doesn't  seem  like  you,  at 
all.  And  if  her  father  and  mother  are  like  Miss  Mabel, 
you  are  very  wrong.  I  like  her  very  much." 

"You  would  try  to  like  any  one,  Mother." 

186 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  did  not  have  to  try  to  like  her.  And  I  was  a  little 
prejudiced,  too,  at  first.  She  was  so  wealthy,  and  an  only 
child ;  I  feared  she  might  be  conceited  and  spoiled.  But 
she  isn't." 

"Not  conceited !    Humph !" 

"No,  not  really.  At  first  she  seemed  a  trifle  distant, 
and  I  thought  her  haughty;  but,  afterward,  when  her 
strangeness  and  constraint  had  worn  away,  she  was 
simple  and  unaffected  and  delightful.  And  she  is  very 
pretty,  isn't  she." 

"Yes." 

"She  told  me  a  great  deal  about  herself.  She  has 
been  through  Vassar  and  has  traveled  a  great  deal.  This 
is  the  first  summer  since  her  graduation  which  she  has 
not  spent  abroad.  She  and  I  talked  of  Rome  and  Flor 
ence.  I — I  told  her  of  the  month  I  spent  in  Italy  when 
you  were  a  baby,  Roscoe." 

"You  did  not  tell  her  anything  more,  Mother?  Any 
thing  she  should  not  know?" 

"Boy !"  reproachfully. 

"Pardon  me,  Mother.  Of  course  you  didn't.  Did  she 
tell  you  why  she  called  on  us — on  you,  I  mean  ?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  I  imagine — though  she  did  not  say 
so — that  you  are  responsible  for  that.  She  and  Nellie 
Dean  seem  to  be  well  acquainted,  almost  friendly,  which 
is  odd,  for  I  can  scarcely  think  of  two  girls  more  dif 
ferent.  But  she  likes  Nellie,  that  is  evident,  and  Nellie 
and  George  have  told  her  about  you  and  me." 

"I  see.  And  so  she  was  curious  concerning  the  inter 
esting  invalid.  Probably  anything  even  mildly  interest 
ing  is  a  godsend  to  her,  down  here.  Did  she  mention  the 
Shore  Lane  rumpus?" 

"Yes.  Although  I  mentioned  it  first.  It  was  plain  that 
she  could  not  understand  your  position  in  the  matter, 

187 


THE   RISE   OF  kOSCOE   PAINE 

Roscoe,  and  I  explained  it  as  well  as  I  could.  I  told 
her  that  you  felt  the  Lane  was  a  necessity  to  the  towns 
people,  and  that,  under  the  circumstances,  you  could  not 
sell.  I  told  her  how  deeply  you  sympathized  with  her 
mother " 

"Did  you  tell  her  that?" 

"Why,  yes.    It  is  true,  isn't  it?" 

"Humph !     Mildly  so,  maybe.     What  more  did  she 


say 


"She  said  she  thought  she  understood  better  now.  I 
told  her  about  you,  Boy,  and  what  a  good  son  you  had 
been  to  me.  How  you  had  sacrificed  your  future  and 
your  career  for  my  sake.  Of  course  I  could  not  go  into 
particulars,  at  all,  but  we  talked  a  great  deal  about  you, 
Roscoe." 

"That  must  have  been  deliriously  interesting — to  her/' 

"I  think  it  was.  She  told  me  of  your  helping  her 
home  through  the  storm,  and  of  something  else  you  had 
not  told  me,  Boy :  of  your  bringing  her  and  Mr.  Carver 
off  the  flat  in  the  boat  that  day.  Why  did  you  keep  that 
a  secret?" 

"It  was  not  worth  telling." 

"She  thought  it  was.  She  laughed  about  it;  said  you 
handled  the  affair  in  a  most  businesslike  and  unsenti 
mental  way;  she  never  felt  more  like  a  bundle  of  dry- 
goods  in  her  life,  but  that  that  appeared  to  be  your  man 
ner  of  handling  people.  It  was  a  somewhat  startling 
manner,  but  very  effective,  she  said.  I  don't  know  what 
she  meant  by  that." 

I  knew,  but  I  did  not  explain. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,  Mother,  that  you  glorified  me 
to  her  for  an  hour?"  I  demanded. 

"No,  indeed.  We  talked  of  ever  so  many  things.  Of 
books,  and  pictures,  and  music.  I'm  afraid  I  was  rather 

188 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

wearisome.  It  seemed  so  good  to  have  some  one — except 
you,  of  course,  dear — to  discuss  such  subjects  with. 
Most  of  my  callers  are  not  interested  in  them." 

I  was  silent. 

"She  is  coming  again,  she  says,"  continued  Mother. 
"She  has  some  new  books  she  is  going  to  lend  me.  You 
must  read  them  to  me.  And  aren't  those  roses  wonder 
ful  ?  She  picked  them,  herself,  in  their  conservatory.  I 
told  her  how  fond  you  were  of  flowers." 

I  judged  that  the  young  lady  must  have  gone  away 
with  the  idea  that  I  was  a  combination  of  longshore  lout 
and  effeminate  dilettante,  with  the  financial  resources  of 
the  former.  She  might  as  well  have  that  idea  as  any 
other,  I  supposed,  but,  in  her  eyes,  I  must  be  more  of  a 
freak  than  ever.  I  should  take  care  to  keep  out  of  the 
sight  of  those  eyes  as  much  as  possible.  But  that  the 
millionaire's  daughter  had  made  a  hit  on  the  occasion 
of  her  first  call  was  plain.  Not  only  had  Mother  been 
favorably  impressed,  but  even  the  practical  and  unro- 
mantic  Dorinda's  shell  was  dented.  She  deigned  to  ob 
serve  that  the  young  lady  seemed  to  have  "consider'ble 
common-sense,  considerin'  her  bringin'  up."  This,  from 
Dorinda,  was  high  praise,  and  I  wondered  what  the 
caller  had  said  or  done  to  win  such  a  triumph.  Lute 
made  the  matter  clear. 

"By  time!"  he  said,  when  he  and  I  were  together, 
"that  girl's  a  smart  one.  I'd  give  somethin'  to  have  her 
kind  of  smartness.  Dorindy  was  terrible  cranky  all  the 
time  she  was  in  your  ma's  room  and  I  didn't  know  what 
would  happen  when  she  come  out.  But  the  fust  thing 
she  done  when  she  come  out  was  to  look  around  the 
dinin'  room  and  say,  'Oh !  what  a  pleasant,  homey  place ! 
And  so  clean!  Why,  it  is  perfectly  spotless!'  Land 
sakes!  the  old  lady  thawed  out  like  a  cranberry  bog  in 

189 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

April.  After  that  they  talked  about  housekeepin'  and 
cookin'  and  such,  sociable  as  could  be.  Dorindy's  goin' 
to  give  her  her  receipt  for  doughnuts  next  time  she 
comes.  And  I  bet  that  girl  never  cooked  a  doughnut  in 
her  life  or  ever  will.  If  I  could  think  of  the  right  thing 
to  say,  like  that,  'twould  save  me  more'n  one  ear-ache. 
But  I  never  do  think  of  it  till  the  next  day,  and  then 
it's  too  late." 

He  borrowed  my  tobacco,  rilled  his  pipe,  and  continued : 

"Say,  Ros,"  he  asked,  "what's  your  idea  of  what  made 
her  come  here?" 

"To  see  Mother,  of  course,"  I  answered. 

"That's  your  notion,  is  it?" 

"Certainly.     What  else?" 

"Humph!  There's  other  sick  folks  in  town.  Why 
don't  she  go  to  see  them  ?" 

"Perhaps  she  does.    I  don't  know." 

"I  bet  you  ten  cents  she  don't.  No,  I've  been  reasonin' 
of  it  out,  same  as  I  gen'rally  do,  and  I've  got  some  no 
tions  of  my  own.  You  don't  cal'late  her  pa  sent  her  so's 
to  sort  of  soft  soap  around  toward  his  gettin'  the  Shore 
Lane?  You  don't  cal'late  'twas  part  of  that  game,  do 
you  ?" 

That  supposition  had  crossed  my  mind  more  than 
once.  I  was  ashamed  of  it  and  now  I  denied  it,  indig 
nantly. 

"Of  course  not,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  so,  myself.  But  if  'tain't  that  it's 
another  reason.  She  may  be  interested  in  Comfort;  I 
don't  say  she  ain't ;  but  that  ain't  all  she's  interested  in." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Never  mind.  I  ain't  said  nothin'.  I'm  just  waitin' 
to  see,  that's  all.  I  have  had  some  experience  in  this 
world,  I  have.  There's  different  times  comin'  for  this 

190 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

family,  you  set  that  down  in  your  log-book,  Ros  Paine." 
"Look  here,  Lute ;  if  you  are  hinting  that  Miss  Colton 

or  her  people  intend  offering  us  charity " 

"Who  said  anything  about  charity?  No;  if  she  had 
that  idee  in  her  head,  her  talk  with  your  ma  would  drive 
it  out.  'Tain't  charity,  I  ain't  sayin'  what  'tis.  .  .  . 
I  wonder  how  'twould  seem  to  be  rich." 

"Lute,  you're  growing  more  foolish  every  day." 
"So  Dorindy  says;  but  she  nor  you  ain't  offered 
no  proof  yet.  All  right,  you  wait  and  see.  And  say,  Ros, 
don't  mention  our  talk  to  Dorindy.  She's  more'n  extry 
down  on  me  just  now,  and  if  I  breathe  that  Mabel  Col- 
ton's  name  she  hops  right  up  in  the  air.  HowT'd  I  know 
that  askin'  if  a  woman  who's  been  sick  in  bed  six  year 
or  more  was  'in'  meant  could  she  have  folks  come  to  see 
her?" 

Mother  would  have  discussed  the  Coltons  with  me  fre 
quently,  but  I  avoided  the  subject  as  much  as  possible. 
The  promised  books  arrived — brought  over  by  John 
son,  the  butler,  who  viewed  our  humble  quarters  with 
lofty  disdain — and  I  read  one  of  them  aloud  to  Mother, 
a  chapter  each  evening.  More  flowers  came  also  and 
the  darkened  bedroom  became  a  bower  of  beauty  and 
perfume.  If  I  had  yielded  to  my  own  wishes  I  should 
have  returned  both  roses  and  books.  It  was  better,  as 
I  saw  it,  that  we  and  our  wealthy  neighbors  had  nothing 
to  do  with  each  other.  Real  friendship  was  out  of  the 
question ;  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Colton's  frigid  bow  and 
her  reference  to  me  as  a  "person"  proved  that.  Her 
daughter  might  think  otherwise,  or  might  think  that  she 
thought  so,  but  I  knew  better.  However,  I  did  not  like 
to  pain  Mother  by  refusing  offerings  which,  to  her,  were 
expressions  of  sympathy  and  regard,  so  I  had  no  pro 
test  and  tried  to  enthuse  over  the  gifts  and  loans.  After 

191 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

all,  what  did  they  amount  to?  One  tea-rose  bred  from 
Dorinda's  carefully  tended  bush,  or  one  gushful  story 
book  selected  by  Almena  Doane  from  the  new  additions 
to  the  town  library  and  sent  because  she  thought  "Mrs. 
Comfort  might  find  it  sort  of  soothin'  and  distractin'/' 
meant  more  real  unselfish  thought  and  kindly  feeling 
than  all  the  conservatory  exotics  and  new  novels  which 
the  rich  girl's  whim  supplied  from  her  overflowing  store. 
I  was  surprised  only  that  the  whim  lasted  so  long. 

Behind  all  this,  I  think,  and  confirming  my  feeling, 
was  the  fact  that  Miss  Colton  did  not  repeat  her  call.  A 
week  or  more  passed  and  she  did  not  come.  I  caught 
glimpses  of  her  occasionally  in  the  auto,  or  at  the  post- 
office,  but  I  took  care  that  she  should  not  see  me.  I  did 
not  wish  to  be  seen,  though  precisely  why  I  could  not 
have  explained  even  to  myself.  The  memory  of  that 
night  in  the  rain,  and  of  our  meetings  in  the  grove, 
troubled  me  because  I  could  not  keep  them  from  my 
mind.  They  kept  recurring,  no  matter  what  I  did  or 
where  I  went.  No,  I  did  not  want  to  meet  her  again. 
Somehow,  the  sight  and  memory  of  her  made  me  more 
dissatisfied  and  discontented  than  ever.  I  found  myself 
moodily  wishing  for  things  beyond  my  reach,  longing  to 
be  something  more  than  I  was — more  than  the  nobody 
which  I  knew  I  must  always  be.  I  remembered  my  feel 
ings  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  I  first  saw  her. 
Now  they  seemed  almost  like  premonitions. 

I  kept  away;  not  only  from  her,  but  from  George 
Taylor  and  Captain  Dean  and  the  townspeople.  I  went 
to  the  village  scarcely  at  all.  Sim  Eldredge,  who  had 
evidently  received  orders  from  headquarters  to  drop 
the  Lane  "agency,"  troubled  me  no  more,  merely  glow 
ering  reproachfully  when  we  met ;  and  Alvin  Baker, 
whose  note  had  been  renewed,  although  he  hailed  me 

192 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

with  effusive  cordiality,  did  not  press  his  society  upon 
me,  having  no  axe  to  grind  at  present.  Zeb  Kendrick 
was  using  the  Lane  again,  but  he  took  care  to  bring  no 
more  "billiard  roomers"  as  passengers.  I  had  as  yet 
heard  nothing  from  my  quarrel  with  Tim  Hallet. 

I  spent  a  good  deal  of  my  time  in  the  Comfort,  or 
wandering  about  the  shore  and  in  the  woods.  One  warm, 
cloudy  morning  the  notion  seized  me  to  go  up  to  the 
ponds  and  try  for  black  bass.  There  are  bass  in  some 
of  the  larger  ponds — lakes  they  would  be  called  any 
where  else  except  on  Cape  Cod — and,  if  one  is  lucky, 
and  the  weather  is  right,  and  the  bait  tempting,  they  may 
be  caught.  This  particular  morning  promised  to  furnish 
the  proper  brand  of  weather,  and  a  short  excursion  on 
the  flats  provided  a  supply  of  shrimps  and  minnows  for 
bait.  Dorinda,  who  happened  to  be  in  good  humor,  put 
up  a  lunch  for  me  and,  at  seven  o'clock,  with  my  rod 
and  landing  net  in  their  cases,  strapped,  with  my  fishing 
boots  and  coffee  pot,  to  my  back,  and  my  bait  pail  in  one 
hand  and  lunch  basket  in  the  other,  I  started  on  my 
tramp.  It  was  a  long  four  miles  to  Seabury's  Pond,  my 
destination,  and  Lute,  to  whom,  like  most  country 
people,  the  idea  of  a  four-mile  walk  was  sheer  lunacy, 
urged  my  harnessing  the  horse  and  driving  there.  But 
I  knew  the  overgrown  wood  roads  and  the  difficulty  of 
piloting  a  vehicle  through  them,  and,  moreover,  I  really 
preferred  to  go  afoot.  So  I  marched  off  and  left  him 
protesting. 

Very  few  summer  people — and  only  summer  people  or 
irresponsible  persons  like  myself  waste  time  in  fresh 
water  fishing  on  the  Cape — knew  where  Seabury's  Pond 
was.  It  lay  far  from  macadam  roads  and  automobile 
thoroughfares  and  its  sandy  shores  were  bordered  with 
verdure-clad  hills  shutting  it  in  like  the  sides  of  a  bowl. 

193 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

To  reach  it  from  Denboro  one  left  the  Bayport  road  at 
"Beriah  Holt's  place,"  followed  Beriah's  cow  path  to  the 
pasture,  plunged  into  the  oak  and  birch  grove  at  the 
southern  edge  of  that  pasture,  emerged  on  a  grass-grown 
and  bush-encumbered  track  which  had  once  been  the  way 
to  some  early  settler's  home,  and  had  been  forsaken  for 
years,  and  followed  that  track,  in  all  its  windings,  until 
he  saw  the  gleam  of  water  between  the  upper  fringe  of 
brush  and  the  lower  limbs  of  the  trees.  Then  he  left  the 
track  and  clambered  down  the  steep  slope  to  the  pond. 

I  am  a  good  walker,  but  I  was  tired  long  before  I 
reached  the  slope.  The  bait  pail,  which  I  refilled  with 
fresh  water  at  Beriah's  pump,  grew  heavier  as  I  went 
on,  and  I  began  to  think  Lute  knew  what  he  was  talk 
ing  about  when  he  declared  me  to  be  "plumb  crazy,  hoof- 
in'  it  four  mile  loaded  down  with  all  that  dunnage." 
However,  when  the  long  "hoof"  was  over,  and  I  sat 
down  in  a  patch  of  "hog-cranberry"  vines  for  a  smoke, 
with  the  pond  before  me,  I  was  measurably  happy.  This 
was  the  sort  of  thing  I  liked.  Here  there  were  no  Shore 
Lane  controversies,  but  real  independence  and  peace. 

After  my  smoke  was  finished  and  I  had  rested,  I  car 
ried  my  "dunnage"  around  to  the  point  where  I  intended 
to  begin  my  fishing,  put  the  lunch  basket  in  a  shady 
place  beneath  the  bushes,  and  the  bait  pail  in  the  water 
nearby,  changed  my  shoes  for  the  fishing  boots,  rigged 
my  rod  and  was  ready. 

At  first  the  fishing  was  rather  poor.  The  pond  was 
full  of  perch  and  they  were  troublesome.  By  and  by, 
however,  I  hooked  a  four-pound  pickerel  and  he  stirred 
my  lagging  ambition.  I  waded  on,  casting  and  playing 
beyond  the  lily  pads  and  sedge.  At  last  I  got  my  first 
bass,  a  small  one,  and  had  scarcely  landed  him  than  a 
big  fellow  struck,  fought,  rose  and  broke  away.  That 

194 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  spur  sufficient.  All  the  forenoon  I  waded  about  the 
shores  of  that  pond.  When  at  half-past  eleven  the  sun 
came  out  and  I  knew  my  sport  was  over,  for  the  time  at 
least,  I  had  four  bass — two  of  them  fine  ones — and  two, 
pickerel.  Then  I  remembered  my  appetite  and  Dorinda's 
luncheon. 

I  went  back  to  the  point  and  inspected  the  contents  of 
the  basket.  Sandwiches,  cold  chicken,  eggs,  doughnuts 
and  apple  puffs.  They  looked  good  to  me.  Also  there 
were  pepper  and  salt  in  one  paper,  sugar  in  another,  cof 
fee  in  a  third,  and  milk  in  a  bottle.  I  collected  some  dry 
chips  and  branches  and  prepared  to  kindle  a  fire.  As  I 
bent  over  the  heap  of  sticks  and  chips  I  heard  the  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs  in  the  woods  near  by. 

I  was  surprised  and  annoyed.  The  principal  charm  of 
Seabury  Pond  was  that  so  few  people  visited  it.  Also 
fewer  still  knew  how  good  the  fishing  was  there.  I  was 
not  more  than  ordinarily  selfish,  but  I  did  not  care  to 
have  the  place  overrun  with  excursionists  from  the  city, 
who  had  no  scruples  as  to  number  and  size  of  fish  caught 
and  would  ruin  the  sport  as  they  had  ruined  it  at  other 
and  better  known  ponds.  The  passerby,  whoever  he  was 
— a  native  probably — would,  if  he  saw  me,  ask  questions 
concerning  my  luck,  and  be  almost  sure  to  tell  every  one 
he  met.  I  left  my  fire  unkindled,  stepped  back  to  the 
shade  of  the  bushes  and  waited  in  silence,  hoping  the 
driver  would  go  on  without  stopping.  There  was  no  real 
road  on  this  side  of  the  pond,  but  there  was  an  aban 
doned  wood  track,  like  that  by  which  I  had  come.  The 
horse  was  approaching  along  the  track;  the  sounds  of 
hoofs  and  crackling  branches  grew  plainer. 

The  odd  part  of  it  was  that  I  heard  no  rattle  of  wheels. 
It  was  almost  as  if  the  person  was  on  horseback.  This 
seemed  impossible,  because  no  one  in  Denboro  or  Bay- 

195 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

port — no  one  I  could  think  of,  at  least — owned  or  rode 
a  saddle  horse.  Yet  the  hoof  beats  grew  louder  and 
there  was  no  squeak,  or  jolt,  or  rattle  to  bear  them  com 
pany.  They  came  to  a  point  in  the  woods  directly  oppo 
site  where  I  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  bushes  and  there  they 
stopped.  Then  they  recommenced  and  the  crackle  of 
branches  was  louder  than  ever.  The  rider,  whoever  he 
was,  was  coming  down  the  bank  to  the  pond. 

A  moment  more  and  the  tall  swamp-huckleberry 
bushes  at  the  edge  of  the  sandy  beach  parted  and  be 
tween  them  stepped  gingerly  a  clean-cut,  handsome 
brown  horse,  which  threw  up  its  head  at  the  sight  of  the 
water  and  then  trotted  lightly  toward  it.  The  rider,  who 
sat  so  easily  in  the  saddle,  was  a  girl.  And  the  girl  was 
Mabel  Colton! 

She  did  not  notice  me  at  first,  but  gave  her  attention 
to  the  horse.  The  animal  waded  into  the  water  to  its 
knees  and,  in  obedience  to  a  pull  on  the  reins,  stopped, 
bent  its  head,  and  began  to  drink.  Then  the  rider  turned 
in  her  seat,  looked  about  her,  saw  the  heap  of  wood  for 
the  fire,  the  open  lunch  basket,  the  rods  and  landing-net, 
and — me. 

I  had  stepped  from  the  bushes  when  she  first  appeared 
and  was  standing  motionless,  staring,  I  imagine,  like 
what  Dorinda  sometimes  called  her  husband — a  "born 
gump."  There  was  Fate  in  this !  no  doubt  about  it.  The 
further  I  went  to  avoid  this  girl,  and  the  more  outlandish 
and  forsaken  the  spot  to  which  I  fled,  the  greater  the  cer 
tainty  of  our  meeting.  A  feeling  of  helplessness  came 
over  me,  as  if  I  were  in  the  clutch  of  destiny  and  no 
effort  of  mine  could  break  that  clutch. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  as  if  she  might  be  thinking 
the  same  thing.  She  started  when  she  saw  me  and  her 
lips  parted. 

196 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  softly.  Then  we  gazed  at  each 
other  without  speaking. 

She  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  surprise.  Her 
expression  changed.  The  look  of  alarm  caused  by  my 
sudden  appearance  left  her  face,  but  the  wonder  re 
mained. 

"Why !    Why,  Mr.  Paine !"  she  cried.    "Is  it  you  ?" 

I  stepped  forward. 

"Why,  Miss  Colton !"  said  I. 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  "It  is  you !"  she  declared. 
"I  was  beginning  to  believe  in  hallucinations.  How  you 
startled  me !  What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  I  re 
plied.  "I  am  here  for  a  fishing  excursion.  But  what 
brought  you  to  this  out-of-the-way  place?" 

She  smiled  and  patted  the  horse's  shoulder.  "Don 
here  brought  me,"  she  answered.  "He  saw  the  water 
and  I  knew  he  was  thirsty,  so  I  came  straight  down  the 
bank.  But  I  didn't  expect  to  find  any  one  here.  I 
haven't  seen  a  horse  or  a  human  being  for  an  hour. 
What  a  pretty  little  lake  this  is.  What  is  its  name  ?" 

"It  is  called  Seabury's  Pond.  How  did  you  find 
it?" 

"I  didn't.  Don  found  it.  He  and  I  came  for  a  gallop 
in  the  woods  and  I  let  him  choose  his  own  paths.  I  have 
been  in  his  charge  all  the  morning.  I  haven't  the  least 
idea  where  we  are.  There,  Don!  you  have  had  enough 
and  you  are  splashing  us  dreadfully.  Come  back!" 

She  backed  the  horse  out  of  the  water  and  turned  his 
head  toward  the  woods. 

"It  is  great  fun  to  be  lost,"  she  observed.  "I  didn't 
suppose  any  one  could  be  lost  in  Denboro." 

"But  this  isn't  Denboro.  Seabury's  Pond  is  in  Bay- 
port  township." 

197 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Is  it,  really?  In  Bayport?  Then  I  must  be  a  long 
way  from  home." 

"You  are ;  four  miles  and  a  half,  at  least.  More  than 
that  over  the  road." 

She  looked  at  her  watch  and  frowned  slightly. 

"Dear  me !"  she  said.  "And  it  is  after  twelve  already. 
I  am  perfectly  sure  I  can't  find  the  way  back  in  time  for 
luncheon." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  go  with  you  and  show  you  the 
way." 

"No,  indeed!  Don  and  I  will  get  home  safely.  This 
isn't  the  first  time  we  have  been  lost  together,  though 
not  on  Cape  Cod.  Of  course  I  shouldn't  think  of  tak 
ing  you  from  your  fishing.  Have  you  had  good  luck  ?" 

"Pretty  fair.    Some  bass  and  two  good-sized  pickerel." 

"Really !  Bass  ?  I  didn't  know  there  were  any  about 
here.  May  I  see  them?" 

"Certainly.    They  are  over  there  in  the  bushes." 

She  swung  lightly  down  from  the  saddle  and,  taking 
her  horse  by  the  bridle,  led  him  toward  the  spot  where 
my  catch  lay,  covered  with  leaves  and  wet  grass.  I  re 
moved  the  covering  and  she  bent  over  the  fish. 

"Oh,  splendid!"  she  .exclaimed,  with  enthusiasm. 
"That  big  one  must  be  a  three-pounder.  I  envy  you. 
Bass  fishing  is  great  sport.  Did  you  get  these  on  a  fly — 
the  bass,  I  mean?" 

"No.  I  use  a  fly  in  the  spring  and  fall,  but  seldom  in 
June  or  July,  here.  Those  were  taken  with  live  bait — 
shrimp.  The  pickerel  with  minnows.  Are  you  fond  of 
fishing,  Miss  Colton?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Whoa,  Don !  steady !  Yes,  I  fish  a  good 
deal  in  September,  when  we  are  at  our  lodge  in  the  Adi- 
rondacks.  Trout  there,  principally.  But  I  have  caught 
,bass  in  Maine.  I  thought  I  must  give  it  up  this  year.  I 

198 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

did  not  know  there  were  fish,  in  fresh  water,  on  the 
Cape." 

"There  are,  a  few.  The  people  about  here  pay  no  at 
tention  to  them.  They  scorn  such  small  fry.  Cod  and 
pollock  are  more  in  their  line." 

"I  suppose  so.  But  that  is  all  the  better  for  you,  isn't 
it?  Were  you  fishing  when  I  interrupted  you?" 

"No,  I  was  just  getting  ready  for  lunch.  My  fire 
was  ready  to  kindle." 

"Fire?    Why  did  you  need  a  fire?" 

"For  my  coffee." 

"Coffee!  You  are  a  luxurious  picnicer,  Mr.  Paine. 
Hot  coffee  on  a  fishing  trip !  and  without  a  guide.  And 
you  are  unfeeling,  besides,  for  you  remind  me  that  I  am 
very  hungry.  I  must  go  at  once.  How  far  am  I  from 
home?  Four  miles,  did  you  say?" 

"Four  and  a  half,  or  more,  by  road.  And  the  roads 
are  like  those  you  have  been  traveling  this  morning. 
I  doubt  if  you  could  find  the  way,  even  with  your  horse's 
help.  I  must  insist  upon  going  with  you  as  far  as  the 
main  road  between  Denboro  and  Bayport." 

"I  shall  not  permit  it." 

"But  I  insist." 

Her  answer  was  a  little  laugh.  She  put  her  foot  in  the 
stirrup  and  vaulted  to  the  saddle. 

"Your  insisting  is  useless,  you  see,"  she  said.  "You 
are  on  foot  and  I  have  the  advantage.  No,  Don  and 
I  will  go  alone,  thank  you.  Now,  will  you  please  tell  me 
the  way?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "Go  back  along  the  road 
you  came,"  I  said,  "until  you  reach  the  second,  no,  the 
third,  path  to  the  right.  Follow  that  to  the  second  on  the 
left.  Then  follow  that  for  two  hundred  yards  or  so 
until — well,  until  you  reach  a  clump  of  bushes,  high 

199 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

bushes.  Behind  these  is  another  path,  a  blind  one,  and 
you  must  take  care  to  pick  the  right  clump,  because 
there  is  another  one  with  a  path  behind  it  and  that  path 
joins  the  road  to  Harniss.  If  you  should  take  the  Har- 
niss  road  you  would  go  miles  out  of  your  way.  Take 
the  blind  path  I  speak  of  and " 

She  interrupted  me.  "Stop!  stop!"  she  exclaimed; 
"please  don't.  I  am  absolutely  bewildered  already.  I 
had  no  idea  I  was  in  such  a  maze.  Let  me  see !  Second 
to  the  right;  third  to  the  left " 

"No,  third  to  the  right  and  second  to  the  left." 

"And  then  the  bushes  and  the  choice  of  blind  paths. 
Don,  I  see  plainly  that  you  and  I  must  trust  to  Provi 
dence.  Well,  it  is  fortunate  that  the  family  are  accus 
tomed  to  my  ways.  They  won't  be  alarmed,  no  matter 
how  late  I  may  be." 

"Miss  Colton,  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  go 
alone.  Of  course  I  am  not.  I  can  set  you  on  the  right 
road  and  get  back  here  in  plenty  of  time  for  fishing. 
The  fish  are  not  hungry  in  the  middle  of  the  day." 

"No,  but  you  are.  I  know  you  must  be,  because — 
no,  good  day,  Mr.  Paine." 

She  spoke  to  the  horse  and  he  began  to  move.  I  took 
my  courage  between  my  teeth,  ran  after  the  animal  and 
seized  the  bridle. 

"You  are  not  going  alone,"  I  said,  decidedly.  I  was 
smiling,  but  determined. 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprised  indignation. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  said. 

I  merely  smiled.  Her  chin  lifted  and  her  brows  drew 
together.  I  recognized  that  look;  I  had  seen  it  before, 
on  that  afternoon  when  I  announced  my  intention  of 
carrying  her  from  the  dingy  to  the  skiff. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  let  go  of  my  rein?"  she 

200 


'Are — are  you  sure  there  is  enough  for  two  ? 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

asked.  Every  word  was  a  sort  of  verbal  icicle.  I  felt 
the  chill  and  my  smile  was  rather  forced;  but  I  held 
the  bridle. 

"No,"  I  said,  serenely  as  I  could.  For  a  minute — I 
suppose  it  was  not  longer  than  that,  it  seemed  an  hour 
to  me — we  remained  as  we  were.  Then  her  lips  began 
to  curl  upward  at  the  corners,  and,  to  my  surprise,  she 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Really,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  "you  are  the  most  im 
possible  person  I  ever  met.  Do  you  always  order  people 
about  this  way  ?  I  feel  as  if  I  were  about  five  years  old 
and  you  were  my  nurse.  Are  we  to  stand  here  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon?" 

"Yes ;  unless  you  permit  me  to  go  with  you  and  show 
you  the  way." 

"But  I  can't.  I'm  not  going  to  spoil  your  picnic.  I 
know  you  want  your  lunch.  You  must.  Or,  if  you  don't, 
I  want  mine." 

"If  you  go  alone,  there  are  nine  chances  in  ten  that 
you  will  not  get  home  in  time  for  dinner,  to  say  nothing 
of  lunch." 

She  looked  at  me  oddly,  I  thought,  and  started  to 
speak.  Whatever  it  was  she  was  going  to  say  she  evi 
dently  thought  better  of  it,  for  she  remained  silent. 

Then  I  had  a  new  idea.  Whether  or  not  it  was  her 
look  which  inspired  it  I  do  not  know.  I  think  it  must 
have  been ;  I  never  would  have  dared  such  a  thing  with 
out  inspiration. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  hesitatingly,  "if  you  really  are 
not — if  you  are  sure  your  people  will  not  worry  about 
you — I — I  should  be  glad  to  share  my  lunch  with  you. 
Then  we  could  go  home  together  afterward." 

She  did  not  look  at  me  now.  Instead  she  turned  her 
head. 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Are — are  you  sure  there  is  enough  for  two?"  she 
asked,  in  a  curiously  choked  tone. 

By  way  of  answer  I  led  the  horse  to  the  bushes,  drew 
the  lu-nch  basket  from  the  shade,  and  threw  back  the 
cover.  Dorinda's  picnic  lunches  were  triumphs  and  she 
had  never  put  up  a  more  tempting  one. 

Miss  Colton  looked  down  into  the  basket. 

"Oh !"  she  exclaimed. 

"There  appears  to  be  enough,  doesn't  there?"  I  ob 
served,  drily. 

"But — but  I  couldn't  think  of  ...  Are  you  sure  I 
won't  be  ...  Thank  you.  Yes,  I'll  stay." 

Before  I  could  offer  my  hand  to  help  her  from  the 
saddle  she  sprang  to  the  ground.  Her  eyes  were  spark 
ling. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "it  is 
shameless  to  tell  you  so,  I  know,  but  I  was  dreadfully 
afraid  you  weren't  going  to  ask  me.  I  am  absolutely 
starved." 


202 


CHAPTER   XII 

AND  now,"  continued  Miss  Colton,  after  an  inter 
val  during  which,  I  presume,  she  had  been  wait 
ing   for  some  reply  to  her   frank   declaration 
concerning  mind  and  appetite,  "what  must  I  do  to  help? 
Shall  I  unpack  the  basket?" 

I  was  struggling,  as  we  say  in  Denboro,  to  get  the  ship 
under  control.  I  had  been  taken  aback  so  suddenly  that 
I  had  lost  steerage  way.  My  slight  experience  with  the 
vagaries  of  the  feminine  mind  had  not  prepared  me  for 
the  lightning  changes  of  this  kind.  Not  two  minutes  be 
fore  she  had,  if  one  might  judge  by  her  look  and  tone, 
been  deeply  offended,  almost  insulted,  because  I  refused 
to  permit  her  wandering  off  alone  into  the  woods.  My  in 
vitation  to  lunch  had  been  given  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment  and  with  no  idea  that  it  would  be  accepted.  And 
she  not  only  accepted,  but  had  expected  me  to  invite 
her,  had  been  fearful  that  I  might  not  do  so.  She  told 
me  so,  herself. 

"Shall  I  unpack  the  basket?"  she  repeated.  She  was 
looking  at  me  intently  and  the  toe  of  her  riding  boot  was 
patting  the  leaves.  "What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  sorry 
I  am  going  to  stay  ?" 

It  was  high  time  for  me  to  get  under  way.  There  were 
squalls  on  the  horizon. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  I  exclaimed,  hastily.  "Of  course  not. 
I  am  delighted.  But  you  need  not  trouble  to  help.  Just 
let  me  attend  to  your  horse  and  I  will  have  lunch  ready 
in  a  jiffy." 

203 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  led  Don  over  to  the  little  green  belt  of  meadow  be 
tween  the  trees  and  the  sand  of  the  beach,  unbuckled  the 
reins  and  made  him  fast  to  a  stout  birch.  He  bent  his 
head  and  began  to  pull  big  mouth fuls  of  the  rich  grass. 
He,  too,  was  evidently  glad  to  accept  my  invitation. 

When  I  returned  to  my  camping  ground  I  found  the 
basket  unpacked  and  the  young  lady  arranging  the  eat 
ables. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  I  said.  "I  am  the 
host  here." 

She  did  not  look  up.  "Don't  bother  the  table  maid," 
she  observed,  briskly.  "That  fire  is  not  kindled  yet." 

I  lit  the  fire  and,  going  over  to  the  bushes,  selected  two 
of  the  fish,  a  bass  and  a  pickerel.  I  carried  them  down 
to  the  shore  of  the  pond  and  began  cleaning  them,  using 
my  jacknife  and  a  flat  stone.  I  was  nearing  the  end 
of  the  operation  when  she  came  over  to  watch. 

"Why  are  you  doing  that?"  she  asked.  "You  are  not 
going  to  cook  them — now — are  you  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  try,"  I  replied. 

"But  how?    You  haven't  anything  to  cook  them  in." 

"I  don't  need  it.  You  don't  appreciate  the  conven 
iences  of  this  hotel,  Miss  Colton.  There !  now  we're 
ready." 

I  rose,  washed  my  hands  in  the  pond,  and  picked  up 
two  other  flat  stones,  large  ones,  which  I  had  previously 
put  aside.  These  I  carried  to  the  fire  and,  raking  aside 
the  burning  logs  with  a  stick,  laid  the  stones  in  a  bed  of 
hot  coals. 

"Those  are  our  frying  pans,"  I  informed  her.  "When 
they  are  hot  enough  they  will  cook  the  fish.  At  least,  I 
hope  they  will.  Now  for  the  coffee." 

But  she  waved  me  aside.  "The  coffee  is  my  affair," 
she  said.  "I  insist  upon  making  the  coffee.  Oh,  you 

204 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

need  not  look  at  me  like  that.  I  am  not  altogether  use 
less.  I  studied  Domestic  Science — a  little — in  my  prep 
school  course.  As  much  as  I  studied  anything  else," 
laughingly. 

"But " 

"Mr.  Paine,  I  am  not  on  horseback  now  and  you  can't 
hold  my  bridle  as  you  did  Don's.  If  you  will  fill  the 
coffee  pot  and  put  it  on  to  boil.  Thank  you.  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  even  you  obey  orders,  sometimes." 

I  had  cooked  fish  in  out-of-door  fashion  often  before, 
but  I  am  quite  sure  I  never  took  such  pains  as  I  did  with 
these.  They  were  not  culinary  triumphs,  even  at  that, 
but  my  guest  was  kind  enough  to  pronounce  them  deli 
cious.  The  lunch  basket  contained  two  plates,  but  only 
one  knife  and  fork.  These  I  insisted  upon  her  using  and 
I  got  on  very  well  with  sharpened  sticks  and  a 
spoon.  The  coffee  was — well,  it  had  one  qualification, 
strength. 

We  conversed  but  little  during  the  meal.  The  young 
lady  said  she  was  too  hungry  to  talk  and  I  was  so  con 
founded  with  the  strangeness  of  the  whole  affair  that 
I  was  glad  to  be  silent.  Sitting  opposite  me,  eating  Do- 
rinda's  doughnuts  and  apple  puffs  and  the  fish  that  I — 
/  had  cooked,  was  "Big  Jim"  Colton's  daughter,  the 
automobile  girl,  the  heiress,  the  "incarnation  of  snob 
bery,"  the  young  lady  whose  father  I  had  bidden  go  to 
the  devil  and  to  whom,  in  company  with  the  rest  of  the 
family,  I  had  many  times  mentally  extended  the  same 
invitation.  And  now  we  were  picnicing  together  as  if 
we  were  friends  of  long  standing.  Why,  Nellie  Dean 
could  not  appear  more  unpretentious  and  unconscious  of 
social  differences  than  this  girl  to-day !  What  would  her 
parents  say  if  they  saw  us  like  this  ?  What  would  Cap 
tain  Jed,  and  the  rest  of  those  in  rebellion  against  the 

205 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Emperor  of  New  York,  say  ?  That  I  was  a  traitor,  hand 
and  glove  with  the  enemy.  Well,  I  was  not;  and  I  did 
not  intend  to  be.  But  for  her  to 

She  interrupted  my  meditations. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  observed,  suddenly,  "you  will  excuse 
my  mentioning  it,  but  you  are  distinctly  not  entertaining. 
You  have  not  spoken  a  word  for  five  minutes.  And  you 
are  not  attending  to  my  needs.  The  apple  puffs  are  on 
your  side  of  the — table." 

I  hastened  to  pass  the  paper  containing  the  puffs. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  hurriedly.  "I — I  was  day 
dreaming,  I  guess." 

"So  I  imagined.  I  forgive  you;  this  lunch  would 
tempt  me  to  forgive  greater  sins  than  yours.  Did  that 
delightful  old  housekeeper  of  yours  cook  all  these  nice 
things?" 

"She  did.    So  you  think  Dorinda  delightful,  do  you  ?" 

"Yes.  She  is  so  sincere  and  good-hearted.  And  so 
odd  and  bright  and  funny.  I  could  listen  to  her  for 
hours." 

"Humph !  Well,  if  you  were  a  member  of  her  house 
hold  you  would  have  that  privilege  often.  I  doubt  if  her 
husband  considers  it  such  a  privilege." 

"Her  husband?  Oh,  yes!  I  met  him.  He  is  a  char 
acter,  too,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes ;  a  weak  one." 

She  put  down  her  coffee  cup  and  sighed,  contentedly. 

"I  think  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good  as  this 
lunch,"  she  observed.  "And  I'm  quite  sure  I  never  ate 
so  much  at  one  sitting.  I  am  going  to  help  you  clear 
away,  but  please  don't  ask  me  to  do  it  just  now.  Have 
you  finished?  You  may  smoke,  if  you  like." 

I  had  been  longing  for  a  smoke  and  now  I  filled  my 
pipe  and  lighted  it. 

206 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Now  we  can  talk,  can't  we?"  she  said.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  about  your  mother.  How  is  she  ?" 

"Just  as  she  was  when  you  saw  her,"  I  answered. 
"Mother  is  always  the  same." 

"She  is  a  dear.  I  had  heard  so  many  nice  things  about 
her  and  I  was  not  disappointed.  I  intended  to  make  only 
a  short  call  and  I  stayed  and  stayed.  I  hope  I  did  not 
tire  her." 

"Not  at  all.     Mother  enjoyed  your  call  exceedingly." 

"Did  she  ?  I  am  so  glad.  I  really  am.  I  went  to  your 
house  with  a  good  deal  of  misgiving,  Mr.  Paine.  I 
feared  that  my  coming  might  be  considered  an  intrusion." 

"I  told  you  that  it  would  not." 

"I  know.  But,  under  the  circumstances — Father's  dis 
agreement  with — considering  all  the — the —  Oh,  what 
shall  I  call  it?" 

"The  late  unpleasantness,"  I  suggested. 

Again  came  the  twinkle  in  her  eye.    She  nodded. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "That  is  a  quotation,  but  it 
was  clever  of  you  to  think  of  it.  Yes,  considering  the 
late  unpleasantness,  I  was  afraid  my  visit  might  be  mis 
understood.  I  was  fearful  that  your  mother  or — some 
one — might  think  I  came  there  with  an  ulterior  motive, 
something  connected  with  that  troublesome  Lane  dis 
pute.  Of  course  no  one  did  think  such  a  thing  ?" 

She  asked  the  question  quickly  and  with  intense  ser 
iousness.  I  remembered  Lute's  hint  and  my  own  secret 
suspicions,  but  I  answered  promptly. 

"Of  course  not,"  I  said. 

"You  did  not  think  that,  did  you?" 

"No,"  unblushingly. 

"I  came  because  from  what  I  had  heard  of  your 
mother  I  was  sure  she  must  be  a  wonderful  woman.  I 
wanted  to  meet  her.  And  she  is  wonderful ;  and  so  pa- 

207 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

tient  and  sweet  and  good.  I  fell  in  love  with  her. 
Everyone  must  love  her.  You  should  be  proud  of  your 
mother,  Mr.  Paine." 

"I  am,"  I  answered,  simply. 

"You  have  reason.    And  she  is  very  proud  of  you." 

"Without  the  reason,  I'm  afraid." 

She  did  not  speak.  Her  silence  hurt.  I  felt  that  I 
knew  what  she  was  thinking  and  I  determined  to  make 
her  say  it. 

"Without  the  reason,"  I  repeated. 

"I  did  not  say  that." 

"But  you  thought  it." 

My  stubborn  persistence  was  a  mistake.  Again,  as 
at  our  meeting  in  the  grove,  I  had  gone  too  far.  Her 
answer  was  as  completely  indifferent  as  speech  and  tone 
could  be. 

"Indeed?"  she  said,  coldly.  "It  is  barely  possible  that 
I  did  not  think  about  it  at  all.  .  .  .  Now,  Mr.  Paine, 
if  you  are  ready  shall  we  clear  away  ?" 

The  clearing,  most  of  it,  was  done  silently.  I  washed 
the  plates,  the  coffee  pot  and  other  things,  in  the  pond 
and  she  packed  them  in  the  basket.  As  I  returned  with 
the  knife  and  forks  I  found  her  looking  at  the  coffee  pot 
and  smiling. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked,  sulkily.  I  was  pro 
voked  with  myself  for  forgetting  who  and  what  I 
was,  and  with  her  for  making  me  forget.  "Isn't  it 
clean?" 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  "surprisingly  so.  Did  they 
teach  Domestic  Science  at  your  college,  too  ?" 

I  started.  "My  college!"  I  repeated.  "How  did  you 
know  I  had  been  at  college  ?  Did  Mother  tell  you  ?" 

She  laughed  gleefully. 

"Did  Mother  tell  you  ?"  I  demanded.  "If  she  did " 

208 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well,  what  if  she  did?  However,  she  did  not.  But 
you  have  told  me  now.  Harvard,  was  it?  or  Yale?" 

I  tossed  the  knife  and  fork  into  the  basket  and  turned 
away. 

"Princeton,  perhaps,"  suggested  Miss  Colton. 

I  walked  over  and  began  to  un joint  my  rod.  I  was 
a  fool  to  be  trapped  like  this.  No  one  in  Denboro  except 
Mother  and  George  Taylor  knew  of  my  brief  college 
career,  and  now  I  had,  practically,  told  this  girl  of  it. 
She  might — if  she  were  sufficiently  interested  to  remem 
ber,  which  was  fortunately  not  probable — tell  her  father 
and  he  might  ask  other  questions  concerning  my  history. 
Where  would  those  questions  lead? 

I  was  angrily  tugging  at  the  rod  when  I  heard  her 
step  behind  me.  I  did  not  turn. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said. 

I  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said  again. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  muttered.  "No  apologies  are  neces 
sary." 

I  said  it  like  a  sullen  schoolboy.  There  was  another 
moment  of  silence.  Then  I  heard  her  move  away.  I 
looked  over  my  shoulder.  She  was  walking  toward  the 
meadow  where  Don,  the  horse,  was  picketed.  There 
was  offended  dignity  in  every  line  of  her  figure. 

For  a  moment  I  fought  with  my  pride  and  injured 
self-respect.  Then  I  hurried  after  her. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said. 

"Well?"  she  neither  turned  nor  stopped. 

"Miss  Colton,  I  should  not  have  answered  like  that. 
I  was  rude." 

She  stopped.    "You  were,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it.    I  am  sorry.    I  apologize." 

"No  apologies  are  necessary." 
209 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Here  was  tit  for  tat.  I  did  not  know  what  more  to 
say,  so  I  said  nothing. 

"Do  I  understand  that  you  ask  my  pardon?"  she  in 
quired,  still  without  turning. 

"I  do.    If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  explain.     I " 

She  whirled  about  and  faced  me.  To  my  astonishment 
she  was  smiling  once  more. 

"Of  course  you  won't  explain,"  she  declared.  "I  had 
no  right  to  ask  you  about  your  college.  But  I  couldn't,, 
help  guessing.  I  told  you  that  I  liked  puzzles.  We'll 
say  no  more  about  it.  I  have  enjoyed  this  picnic  and  I 
won't  have  it  spoiled.  Now  why  are  you  taking  your  rod 
apart?" 

"Because  I  know  you  want  to  go  home  and  I  am  going 
with  you  to  show  you  the  way." 

"But  I  don't  have  to  go  yet,  do  I  ?  It  is  not  late.  And1 
I  thought  perhaps  you  would  let  me  see  you  catch  an 
other  bass.  Won't  you?  Please." 

Once  more  she  had  me  at  a  disadvantage.  I  had  no 
desire  for  more  fishing,  and  I  was  fearful  of  further 
questions,  but  what  could  I  do?  And  it  was  not  late — 
but  a  little  past  two  o'clock. 

So  I  rigged  the  rod  again  and  led  the  way  down  the 
shore  to  the  spot  where  the  sedge  extended  out  into  the 
pond,  with  the  lily  pads  beyond  it.  She  walked  beside 
me.  Then  she  seated  herself  on  a  fallen  tree  and  I  baited 
the  hook  with  a  lively  minnow  and  cast.  For  some  time 
I  got  not  even  a  nibble.  As  I  waited  she  and  I  talked. 
But  now  it  was  I  who  questioned. 

"Do  you  like  Denboro?"  I  asked. 

"I  am  beginning  to  like  it  very  much.  At  first  I 
thought  it  very  dull,  but  now  I  am  getting  acquaint 
ed." 

"There  are  few  cottagers  and  summer  people  here. 
210 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

But  in  Harniss  there  is  a  large  colony.  Very  nice  people, 
I  believe." 

"Yes,  I  have  met  some  of  them.  But  it  was  not  the 
summer  people  I  meant.  I  am  beginning  to  know  the 
townspeople  and  to  like  some  of  them.  I  met  that  de 
lightful  old  Captain  Warren  the  other  day." 

"He  is  as  good  as  they  make." 

"Indeed  he  is.  And  I  had  an  interview  with  another 
captain,  Miss  Dean's  father,  yesterday.  We  had  an  in 
teresting  encounter." 

"So  I  should  imagine.  Captain  Jed !  Whew !  It  must 
have  been  interesting." 

"It  was.  Oh,  we  were  very  fierce  at  first — at  least  he 
was,  and  I  fought  for  my  side  as  hard  as  I  could.  He 
said  Father  was  a  selfish  pig  for  wanting  to  close  the 
Lane,  and  I  said  it  was  because  of  its  use  by  the  pigs 
that  he  wished  to  close  it." 

"Ha!  ha!     How  did  it  end?" 

"Oh,  we  agreed  to  disagree.  I  respect  Captain  Dean 
for  his  fight;  but  Father  will  win,  of  course.  He  al 
ways  does." 

"He  won't  win  this  time,  Miss  Colton." 

"Why  not  ?  Oh,  I  actually  forgot  I  was  talking  to  the 
head  and  front  of  the  opposition.  So  you  think  he  will 
not  win,  Mr.  Paine?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  He  cannot  close  that  Lane  until  I 
sell  it,  and  I  shall  not  sell." 

She  regarded  me  thoughtfully,  her  chin  upon  her 
hand. 

"It  would  be  odd  if  he  should  not,  after  all,"  she  said. 
"He  prides  himself  on  having  his  own  way.  It  would 
be  strange  if  he  should  be  beaten  down  here,  after  win 
ning  so  often  in  New  York.  Your  mother  told  me 
something  of  your  feeling  in  the  matter,  Mr.  Paine. 

211 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Father  has  offered  you  a  good  price  for  the  land,  hasn't 
he?" 

"He  has  offered  me  a  dozen  times  what  it  is  worth." 

"Yes.  He  does  not  count  money  when  he  has  set  his 
heart  upon  anything.  And  you  refused?" 

"Yes." 

"But  Nellie  Dean  says  the  town  also  wished  to  buy 
and  you  refused  its  offer,  too." 

"Yes." 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  for  money,  either,  Mr.  Paine. 
Are  all  Cape  Cod  people  so  unmercenary?  Or  is  it  that 
you  all  have  money  enough — .  .  .  Pardon  me.  That 
was  impolite.  I  spoke  without  thinking." 

"Oh,  never  mind.  I  am  not  sensitive — on  that  point, 
at  least." 

"But  I  do  mind.  And  I  am  sorry  I  said  it.  And  I 
should  like  to  understand.  I  see  why  the  townspeople 
do  not  want  the  Lane  closed.  But  you  have  not  lived 
here  always.  Only  a  few  years,  so  Miss  Dean  says. 
She  said,  too,  that  that  Mr.  Taylor,  the  cashier,  was  al 
most  the  only  intimate  friend  you  have  made  since  you 
came.  Others  would  like  to  be  friendly,  but  you  will 
not  permit  them  to  be.  And,  yet  for  these  people,  mere 
acquaintances,  you  are  sacrificing  what  Father  would  call 
a  profitable  deal." 

"Not  altogether  for  them.  I  can't  explain  my  feel 
ing  exactly.  I  know  only  that  to  sell  them  out  and  make 
money — and  heaven  knows  I  need  money — at  their  ex 
pense  seems  to  me  dead  wrong." 

"Then  why  don't  you  sell  to  them?3' 

"I  don't  know.  Unless  it  was  because  to  refuse  your 
father's  offer  and  accept  a  lower  one  seemed  a  mean 
trick,  too.  And  I  won't  be  bullied  into  selling  to  any 
one.  I  guess  that  is  it,  as  much  as  anything." 

212 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"My!  how  stubborn  you  must  be." 

"I  don't  know  why  I  have  preached  this  sermon  to 
you,  Miss  Colton.  Your  sympathies  in  the  fight  are  with 
your  father,  naturally." 

"Oh,  no,  they  are  not." 

I  almost  dropped  the  rod. 

"Not — with — "  I  repeated. 

"Not  altogether.  They  are  with  you,  just  at  present. 
If  you  had  sold — if  you  had  given  in  to  Father,  feeling 
as  you  do,  I  should  not  have  any  sympathy  with  you  at 
all.  AS  it  is " 

"As  it  is?"  I  asked  eagerly — too  eagerly.  I  should 
have  done  better  to  pretend  indifference. 

"As  it  is,"  she  answered,  lightly,  "I  respect  you  as  I 
would  any  sincere  fighter  for  a  losing  cause.  And  I 
shall  probably  feel  some  sympathy  for  you  after  the  cause 
is  lost.  Excuse  my  breaking  in  on  your  sermon,  pro 
vided  it  is  not  finished,  but — I  think  you  have  a  bite,  Mr. 
Paine." 

I  had,  very  much  of  a  bite.  The  minnow  on  my  hook 
had  been  forgotten  and  allowed  to  sink  to  the  bottom, 
and  a  big  pout  had  swallowed  it,  along  with  the  hook 
and  a  section  of  line.  I  dragged  the  creature  out  of  the 
water  and  performed  a  surgical  operation,  resulting  in 
the  recovery  of  my  tackle. 

"There !"  I  exclaimed,  in  disgust.  "I  think  I  have  had 
enough  fishing  for  one  day.  Suppose  we  call  it  off.  Un 
less  you  would  like  to  try,  Miss  Colton." 

I  made  the  offer  by  way  of  a  joke.  She  accepted  it 
instantly. 

"May  I?"  she  cried,  eagerly.  "I  have  been  dying  to 
ever  since  I  came." 

"But — but  you  will  get  wet." 

"No  matter.    This  is  an  old  suit." 
213 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  did  not  look  old  to  my  countrified  eyes,  but  I  pro 
tested  no  more.  There  was  a  rock  a  little  below  where 
we  then  were,  one  of  the  typical  glacial  boulders  of  the 
Cape — lying  just  at  the  edge  of  the  water  and  projecting 
out  into  it.  I  helped  her  up  on  to  this  rock  and  baited 
her  hook  with  shrimp. 

"Shall  I  cast  for  you?"  I  asked. 

"No  indeed.    I  can  do  it,  thank  you." 

She  did,  and  did  it  well.  Moreover,  the  line  had 
scarcely  straightened  out  in  the  water  when  it  was  sav 
agely  jerked,  the  pole  bent  into  a  half-circle,  and  out  of 
the  foaming  eddy  beneath  its  tip  leaped  the  biggest  bass 
I  had  seen  that  day,  or  in  that  pond  on  any  day. 

"By  George!"  I  exclaimed.  "Can  you  handle  him? 
Shall  I " 

She  did  not  look  at  me,  but  I  received  my  orders, 
nevertheless. 

"Please  don't!     Keep  away!"  she  said  sharply. 

For  nearly  fifteen  minutes  she  fought  that  fish,  in  and 
out  among  the  pads,  keeping  the  line  tight,  handling  him 
at  least  as  well  as  I  could  have  done.  I  ran  for  the  land 
ing  net  and,  as  she  brought  her  captive  up  beside 
the  rock,  reached  forward  to  use  it.  But  she  stopped 
me. 

"No,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  "I  want  to  do  this  all 
myself." 

It  took  her  several  more  minutes  to  do  it,  and  she 
was  pretty  well  splashed,  when  at  last,  with  the  heavy 
net  dragging  from  one  hand  and  the  rod  in  the  other, 
she  sprang  down  from  the  rock.  Together  we  bent 
over  the  fish. 

"A  four-pounder,  if  he  is  an  ounce,"  said  I.  "I  con 
gratulate  you,  Miss  Colton." 

"Poor  thing,"  she  mused.  "I  am  almost  sorry  he  did 
214 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

not  get  away.  He  is  a  beauty,  isn't  he!  Now  I  am 
ready  to  go  home." 

That  journey  home  was  a  strange  experience  to  me. 
She  rode  Don  and  bore  the  lunch  basket  and  the  net  be 
fore  her  on  the  saddle.  I  walked  alongside,  carrying  the 
rod,  boots,  and  the  fish  in  the  otherwise  empty  bait  pail. 
The  sunshine,  streaming  through  the  leaves  of  the  arch 
ing  boughs  overhead,  dappled  the  narrow,  overgrown 
paths  with  shifting  blotches  of  light  and  shadow. 
Around  us  was  the  deep,  living  green  of  the  woods,  the 
songs  of  birds,  the  chatter  of  red  squirrels,  and  the  scent 
of  wild  honeysuckle.  And  as  we  moved  onward  we 
talked — that  is,  she  did  most  of  the  talking  and  I  listened. 
Yet  I  must  have  talked  more  than  I  knew,  because  I  re 
member  expressing  opinions  concerning  books  and 
operas  and  pictures,  subjects  I  had  not  discussed  for 
years  except  occasionally  with  Mother,  and  then  only 
because  she  was  still  interested  in  them.  I  seemed,  some 
how,  to  have  become  a  different,  a  younger  man,  under 
the  influence  of  these  few  hours  with  the  girl  I  had  pro 
fessed  to  hate  so  cordially.  Our  companionship — per 
fectly  meaningless  as  it  was,  the  mere  caprice  of  an  idle 
day  on  her  part — had  rejuvenated  me.  During  that 
homeward  walk  I  forgot  myself  entirely,  forgot  that  I 
was  Ros  Paine,  the  country  loafer;  forgot,  too,  that  she 
was  the  only  child  of  the  city  millionaire,  that  we  had, 
or  could  have,  nothing  in  common.  She,  also,  seemed 
to  forget,  and  we  chatted  together  as  unconsciously  and 
easily  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  all  our  lives. 

Yet  it  may  be  that  her  part  in  the  conversation  was 
not  altogether  without  a  purpose.  She  led  me  to  speak 
of  Denboro  and  its  people,  of  how  they  lived,  and  of  the 
old  days  of  sailing  ships  and  deep  sea  skippers.  George 
Taylor's  name  was  mentioned  and  I  praised  him  highly, 

215 


telling  of  his  rise  from  poor  boy  to  successful  man,  as  we 
rated  success  locally. 

"He  manages  that  bank  well,"  I  declared.  "Everyone 
says  so.  And,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  his  management, 
I  know  it  to  be  true." 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  she  asked. 

"Because  I  have  had  some  experience  in  banking  my 
self.  I » 

I  stopped  short.  My  tongue  was  running  away  with 
me.  She  did  not  ask  the  question  which  I  dreaded  and 
expected.  Instead  she  said,  looking  down  at  me : 

"You  are  a  loyal  friend,  aren't  you,  Mr.  Paine." 

"I  have  reason  to  be  loyal  to  George,"  I  answered, 
with  feeling. 

"Are  you  as  loyal  to  yourself?" 

I  looked  up  at  her  in  surprise. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  understand  you,  Mr.  Paine. 
Trying  to  get  the  answer  to  the  puzzle.  In  one  way  I 
think  I  have  it.  I  understand  your  attitude  in  the  Lane 
affair  and  I  think  I  know  why  you  came  to  Denboro  and 
are  staying  here." 

I  stopped  short.    "You — you  know  that?'  I  cried. 

"I  think  I  do.  You  believe  that  your  mother  needs  you 
and  you  will  not  leave  her.  That  is  your  reason  for  liv 
ing  here,  I  think.  But,  in  another  way,  I  cannot  under 
stand  you  at  all." 

She  spoke  to  the  horse  and  we  moved  on  again.  I 
waited  for  her  to  continue,  but  she  was  silent. 

"How?  What  is  the  other  way!  The  way  in  which 
you  cannot  understand  me?"  I  asked. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?  Do  you  wish  me  to  be  perfectly 
frank?" 

"Yes." 

216 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  such  as  you  seem  to 
be,  young,  educated,  and  with  life  before  him,  can  be 
content  to  do  as  you  do,  spend  your  time  in  fishing,  or 
sailing,  or  shooting.  To  have  no  ambition  at  all.  My 
father  was  a  poor  country  boy,  like  your  friend,  Mr. 
Taylor,  but  he  worked  night  and  day  until  he  became 
what  he  is  now.  And  even  now  he  works,  and  works 
hard.  Oh,  I  am  proud  of  him !  Not  because  he  is  what 
he  is,  but  because  he  has  done  it  all  himself.  If  I  were 
a  man  I  would  have  some  purpose  in  life;  I  would  do 
something  worth  while  if  it  were  only  to  sell  fish  from 
a  cart,  like  that  old  fellow  with  the  queer  name — what 
is  it  ? —  Oh,  yes !  Theophilus  Newcomb." 

I  did  not  answer.  She  had  said  all  that  was  neces 
sary,  and  more.  It  was  quite  enough  for  me. 

"There!"  she  observed,  after  a  moment.  "You  asked 
me  to  tell  you  and  I  did.  If  you  never  speak  to  me 
again  it  will  be  exactly  what  I  deserve.  But  I  thought 
it  and  so  I  said  it.  Expressing  my  thoughts  is  one  of 
my  bad  habits.  .  .  .  Oh,  why,  we  are  almost  home, 
aren't  we!" 

We  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  grove  bordering 
Beriah  Holt's  pasture.  The  grove  was  on  the  west  side 
of  a  little  hill.  Before  us  the  pasture  sloped  away  to 
Beriah's  house  and  barn,  with  the  road  beyond  it.  And 
beyond  that,  in  the  distance,  were  the  steeples  and  roofs 
of  Denboro.  Among  them  the  gables  and  tower  of  the 
Colton  mansion  rose,  conspicuous  and  costly. 

She  turned  in  the  saddle.  "I  presume  I  may  leave  you 
now,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said.  "Even  you  must  admit  that 
the  rest  of  the  way  is  plain  sailing.  Thank  you  for  your 
hospitality  and  for  your  services  as  guide.  I  will  send 
the  basket  and  net  over  by  one  of  the  servants." 

"I  will  take  them  now,"  I  said,  shortly. 
217 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Very  well,  if  you  prefer.    Here  they  are." 

I  took  them  from  her. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  said.  "And  thanks  once  more 
for  a  very  pleasant  picnic." 

"You  are  quite  welcome,  I'm  sure.  Thank  you  for 
your  frank  opinion  of  my — worthlessness.  It  was  kind 
of  you  to  express  it." 

The  sarcasm  was  not  lost  upon  her. 

"I  meant  it  as  a  kindness,"  she  replied. 

"Yes.  And  it  was  true  enough,  probably.  Doubtless 
I  shall  derive  great  benefit  from  your — words  of  wis 
dom." 

Her  patience,  evidently,  was  exhausted.  She  turned 
away.  "Oh,  that,"  she  said,  indifferently,  "is  your  af 
fair.  I  told  you  what  I  believed  to  be  the  truth,  that 
was  all.  What  you  do  is  not  likely  to  be  of  vast  impor 
tance  to  me,  one  way  or  the  other.  Come,  Don !" 

Don  cantered  down  the  slope.  I  watched  him  and  his 
rider  disappear  beyond  the  trees  in  the  distance.  Then  I 
picked  up  my  pail  and  other  burdens  and  followed  in 
their  wake.  The  sun  was  behind  a  cloud.  It  had  been 
a  strange  day  with  a  miserable  ending.  I  was  furious 
ly  angry  with  her,  but  I  was  more  angry  with  myself. 
For  what  she  had  told  me  was  the  truth,  and  I 
knew  it. 

I  strode  on,  head  down,  through  the  village.  People 
spoke  to  me,  asking  what  luck  I  had  had  and  where  I 
had  been,  but  I  scarcely  noticed  them.  As  I  reached  the 
Corners  and  was  passing  the  bank  someone  called  my 
name.  I  glanced  up  and  saw  George  Taylor  descending 
the  steps. 

"Hold  on,  Ros,"  he  hailed.  "Wait  a  minute.  What's 
your  rush?  Hold  on!" 

I  halted  reluctantly. 

218 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Fishing  again,  I  see,"  he  observed,  as  he  reached  my 
side.  "Any  luck?" 

"Fair,"  I  told  him. 

"What  pond?" 

"Seabury's." 

"Go  alone?" 

"Yes."  That  I  had  not  been  alone  since  was  no  busi 
ness  of  his. 

"Humph !  You  ain't  exactly  what  a  fellow'd  call  talk 
ative  this  afternoon,  seems  to  me.  Anything  wrong?" 

"No." 

"Tuckered  out?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"Well,  so  am  I,  but  I  ain't  had  your  fun  getting  that 
way.  Small  and  I  have  been  at  it  night  and  day  getting 
things  in  shape  so  he  could  leave.  He's  gone.  Went  this 
noon.  And  that  ain't  the  worst  of  it ;  I  haven't  got  any 
body  yet  to  take  his  place.  I'll  have  to  be  cashier  and 
bookkeeper  too  for  a  spell.  There's  applicants  enough, 
but  they  don't  suit.  Guess  likely  you'll  have  to  help  me 
out,  after  all,  Ros.  The  job  is  yours  if  you  say  the 
word." 

He  laughed  as  he  said  it.  Even  to  him  the  idea  of 
my  working  was  a  joke. 

But  the  joke  did  not  seem  funny  to  me,  just  then. 
I  walked  on  for  some  distance  without  a  word.  Then  I 
asked  a  question. 

"What  is  expected  of  a  man  in  that  position?" 
I  asked. 

"Expected?  Why,  plain  bank  bookkeeping — not  much 
else  at  first.  Yet  there's  a  good  chance  for  a  likely  fel 
low  to  be  considerable  more,  in  time.  I  need  help  in  my 
part  of  the  work.  That's  why  I  haven't  hired  any  of  the 
dozen  or  so  who  are  after  the  place.  What  makes  you 

219 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

ask?  You  don't  know  of  a  good  man  for  me,  do  you, 
Ros?" 

"When  do  you  want  him  to  begin?" 

"To-morrow  morning,  if  he  satisfies  me." 

"Would  I  satisfy  you?" 

"You !  Humph !  Try  me  and  see,  that's  all  I'd 
ask." 

"All  right.    I'll  be  on  hand  in  the  morning." 

He  stopped,  looked  at  me,  and  then  seized  me  by  the 
arm. 

"See  here!"  he  cried,  "I'm  lost  in  the  fog,  I  guess 
likely.  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Is  it  time  to  laugh 
• — or  what?" 

"It  may  be;  I  don't  know.  But  I  ..ake  the  book 
keeper's  position  in  your  bank.  Now,  good-by.  Don't 
talk  to  me.  I  don't  feel  like  talking." 

"But— but,  Ros." 

"Good-by." 

I  walked  on.  I  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  when  he 
overtook  me. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  "I  ain't  going  to  say  but  just  one 
thing.  If  you  meant  what  you  said  I'm  the  most  tickled 
man  on  the  Cape.  But  you  ain't  asked  a  word  about  the 
salary." 

"I  know  it.  I  haven't  asked  because  I  don't  care.  I'll 
be  on  hand  in  the  morning." 

I  left  him  standing  there,  and  hurried  down  the  Lower 
Road.  As  I  had  said  to  him,  I  did  not  feel  like  talking. 
I  did  not  want  even  to  see  any  one.  I  wanted  to  be  let 
alone.  But  it  was  fated  that  I  should  not  be,  not  yet. 
Sim  Eldredge  was  waiting  for  me  around  the  corner. 
He  stepped  out  from  behind  the  fence  where  he  had  been 
hidden. 

"Ros!" -he  whispered.  "Ros  Paine!  Wait.  It's  me, 
220 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Sim.  I  want  to  ask  you  somethin'.  Wan't  that  George 
Taylor  you  was  speakin'  to  just  now?" 

"Yes/'  I  answered,  impatiently.     "What  of  it?" 

"Say,  Ros,  you  and  me  ain't  pulled  that  Colton  trade 
off,  but  it  ain't  my  fault.  You  ain't  got  no  hard  feelin's 
against  me,  I  know.  And  I  want  you  to  do  a  little  mite 
of  favor  for  me.  Will  you?" 

"What  is  it?  If  it  has  anything  to  do  with  the  Lane, 
I  tell  you  now  that " 

"It  ain't — it  ain't.  It's  about  that  bookkeepin'  job  in 
the  bank,  Henry  Small's  place,  the  one  he's  just  quit. 
I've  got  a  third  cousin,  name  of  Josiah  Badger,  over  to 
South  Harniss.  He's  a  smart  young  chap,  and  an  A-i 
accountant  at  figgers.  He's  been  keepin'  books  down  at 
the  fish  wharf — see?  Now,  he'd  like  that  job  and,  bein' 
as  you  and  George  are  so  thick,  I  cal'lated  maybe  you'd 
sort  of  use  your  influence  along  of  George,  and — and  get 
it  for  him.  There  ain't  nothin'  in  it  for  me — that 
is,  nothin'  much.  But  I  feel  friendly  toward  Josiah 
and  you  know  I  like  to  do  little  kindnesses  for  folks. 
So " 

"There!  there!"  I  interrupted.  "It's  no  use,  Sim.  I 
can't  help  you." 

"Why!  yes  you  can," 

"No,  I  can't.  I  don't  know  your  cousin,  and  besides — 
well,  you  are  too  late.  The  place  is  filled." 

Sim's  expression  changed.  He  looked  surprised  and 
crestfallen. 

"Filled?"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  no,  'tain't!  If  'twas 
I'd  have  known  it,  wouldn't  I?  Who'd  you  hear  had 
got  it?  Whoever  you  heard,  'tain't  so." 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"How  do  you  know  ?    Who  is  it,  then  ?" 

I  hesitated.     Before  noon  of  the  next  day  every  soul 

221 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

in  Denboro  would  have  heard  the  news.  Eldredge  might 
as  well  hear  it  now. 

"I've  taken  the  place  myself,"  I  said. 

"You?"  Sim  actually  forgot  to  whisper;  he  shouted 
the  word.  "You!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Ros,  quit  your  foolin'." 

"I'm  not  fooling.  I  go  to  work  in  the  bank  to-morrow 
morning." 

"But —  Oh,  my  soul !  You !  Aw,  I  know  better !  Say, 
Ros,  don't  let's  waste  time  like  this.  Fun's  all  right, 
but  .  .  .  My  heavens  to  Betsy!  You  work  for  a 
livin' !  If  I  believed  that  I'd  believe  anything.  Tell  me, 
now.  Who  has  got  that  job?  .  .  .  Why  don't  you 
answer  me?" 

I  answered  him.  "Shut  up!"  I  said,  fiercely.  Then  I 
vaulted  the  fence  and  set  out  for  home  across  lots. 

I  heard  the  next  day  that  Sim  went  back  to  the  post- 
office  and  informed  the  gathering  there  that  Ros  Paine 
had  taken  to  drinking. 

"He  was  tight  as  a  biled  owl,"  declared  Sim;  "and 
ugly — don't  talk !  Wanted  to  fight  me  because  I  wouldn't 
believe  he  was  goin'  to  work.  Him !  What  in  the  ever- 
lastin'  would  he  want  to  work  for?  My  heavens  to 
Betsy!" 


232 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I    THINK  Taylor  was  almost  as  surprised  as  Eldredge 
had  been,  when,  at  half-past  eight  the  following 
morning,  I  appeared  at  the  bank.    He  was  already 
at  his  desk  and,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  me,  he  whis 
tled. 

"Whew !"  he  exclaimed.  "So.  I  didn't  dream  it,  after 
all.  You're  here,  ain't  you." 

"I  am  here,"  I  answered,  opening  the  gate  and  step 
ping  in  behind  the  rail. 

"Going  to  take  it  back  and  say  you  never  said  it?" 

"No." 

"Come  to  go  to  work  ?    Really  ?" 

"That  is  my  intention,  unless  you  have  changed  your 
mind." 

"Not  me.  It  ain't  likely.  But,  Ros,  I — sit  down  a 
minute  and  let's  talk.  What  are  you  doing  this  for?" 

It  was  a  question  I  had  been  asking  myself  at  inter 
vals  during  a  restless  night.  Now  I  gave  the  only  truth 
ful  answer. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"You  don't  know !" 

"No.  And  I  don't  seem  to  care.  Suppose  we  don't 
talk  about  it.  I  am  here,  and  I  am  ready  to  begin  work. 
That's  enough,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Why,  no;  not  quite.  You're  not  doing  ic  just  to  help 
me  out?" 

"No." 

223 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"You  don't  need  to  work.  You've  got  money  enough." 

"No,  I  haven't.  But  money  isn't  my  reason.  I  haven't 
any  reason.  Now  show  me  the  books,  will  you?" 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  What  does  your  mother  think 
about  it?" 

"I  haven't  told  her  yet.  Time  enough  for  that  when 
I  know  that  I  really  mean  it  and  you  know  that  I  am 
competent  to  fill  the  position.  George,  if  you  keep  on 
cross-examining  me  I  am  likely  to  quit  before  I  begin. 
I  don't  know  why  I  am  doing  this,  but  just  now  I  think 
I  am  going  to  do  it  if  I  can.  However,  I  am  not  sure. 
So  you  had  better  be  careful." 

"Humph!  What  did  you  catch  up  at  that  pond  yes 
terday?  I  never  saw  a  day's  fishing  make  such  a  dif 
ference  in  a  man  in  my  life.  .  .  .  All  right,  Ros. 
All  right.  I  won't  pester  you.  Too  glad  to  have  you 
here  for  that.  Now  about  the  salary." 

"Before  we  speak  of  that  there  is  one  more  point. 
How  about  your  directors?  Dean  and  the  rest?  Do 
they  know  you  offered  me  the  position?" 

"Sure  thing !  They  put  the  whole  affair  in  my  hands. 
They'll  be  satisfied.  And  as  for  Cap'n  Jed — why,  he  was 
the  one  that  suggested  hiring  you  in  the  first  place." 

"Captain  Jed!    Captain  Jed  Dean!    He  suggested  it?" 

"Yup.  In  a  way,  he  did.  You  may  not  know  it,  Ros, 
but  you've  made  a  good  deal  of  a  hit  with  the  old  man. 
He  ain't  been  used  to  having  anybody  stand  up  to  him 
as  you  have.  As  a  general  thing  Denboro  jumps  when 
he  snaps  the  whip.  You  didn't,  and  he  couldn't  under 
stand  why.  He  is  the  kind  that  respects  anything  they 
can't  understand.  Then,  too,  Nellie  likes  you,  and  she's 
his  idol,  you  know.  Ah  hum !" 

He  sighed  and,  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  forget  me 
altogether.  I  reminded  him  by  another  question. 

224 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"But  why  should  the  captain  think  of  me  for  this 
place?"  I  asked.  "Why  should  he  dream  that  I  would 
take  it?  I  gave  you  no  encouragement." 

"I  don't  know  as  he  did  dream  it.  But  he  and  I  were 
speaking  of  you  and  he  said  he'd  like  to  do  something 
to  show  you  what  the  town  thought  of  your  holding  out 
against  Colton.  That  tickled  him  down  to  the  keel.  I 
said  you'd  be  a  first-class  helper  to  me  in  this  bank,  that 
I  heard  you  knew  something  about  banking " 

"George!" 

"It's  all  right.  I  only  mentioned  that  I  heard  rumors 
that  you  were  in  a  city  bank  somewhere  at  one  time.  He 
didn't  ask  any  more  and  I  shouldn't  have  told  him  if  he 
had.  But  the  idea  pleased  him,  I  could  see  that.  'Why 
don't  you  try  to  get  him?'  says  he.  'Maybe  the  days  of 
miracles  ain't  past.  Perhaps  even  he'd  condescend  to 
work,  if  the  right  job  came  his  way.' " 

"So  that's  what  you  call  his  suggesting  me,  do  you? 
Humph!" 

"Well,  I  told  him  about  it  last  night,  when  I  was  up 
to  see  Nellie,  and  he  was  pleased  as  Punch.  Surprised, 
of  course,  but  pleased.  He's  practically  the  whole  board, 
as  far  as  settling  things  is  concerned,  so  it  is  all  right. 
He  ain't  the  worst  friend  you've  got,  by  a  long  shot." 

I  imagined  that  I  understood  what  Captain  Jed's 
"friendship"  meant.  My  accepting  the  bank  position  was 
one  more  bond  binding  me  to  his  side  in  the  Shore  Lane 
battle.  And,  so  long  as  I  was  under  Taylor's  eye  and 
his  own,  I  could  not  be  subject  to  the  Colton  influence. 

George  and  I  discussed  the  question  of  salary,  if  his 
offer  and  my  prompt  acceptance  might  be  called  a  dis 
cussion.  The  pay  was  not  large  to  begin  with,  but  it  was 
more  than  I  had  a  right  to  expect.  And  I  was  perfectly 
honest  when  I  said  that  money  was  not  the  consideration 

225 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

which  led  me  to  make  the  sudden  change  in  my  habit  of 
life.  I  was  sick  of  idleness ;  I  had  longed  for  something 
to  occupy  my  life  and  time ;  I  might  as  well  be  doing  this 
as  anything;  Taylor's  offer  had  appealed  to  me  when  he 
first  made  it;  these  were  the  excuses  I  evolved  for  my 
own  satisfaction  and  I  tried  to  believe  them  real.  But 
one  reason  I  would  not  admit,  even  in  my  thoughts,  as 
a  possibility.  It  was  not  that  girl,  or  anything  she  had 
said,  which  influenced  me.  No !  over  and  over  again — 
no. 

Sam  Wheeler,  the  young  fellow  who  acted  as  assistant 
bookkeeper  and  messenger,  came  in,  and  Taylor,  after 
showing  me  the  books  and  giving  me  a  few  hints  as  to 
what  my  duties  would  be,  turned  me  over  to  him  for 
further  instruction.  I  found  I  needed  but  little.  The 
pages,  with  their  rows  of  figures,  seemed  like  old  friends. 
I  almost  enjoyed  poring  over  them.  Was  it  possible 
that  I  was  going  to  like  this  new  venture  of  mine  ? 

Before  noon  I  was  fairly  certain  of  it.  The  work  in 
a  country  bank  is  different  from  that  in  the  large  city 
institutions,  in  that  it  is  by  no  means  as  specialized.  I 
found  that,  later  on,  I  should  be  expected  to  combine  the 
work  of  teller  with  that  of  bookkeeper.  And  this,  too, 
seemed  natural.  I  worked  as  steadily  as  I  could,  con 
sidering  interruptions,  and  the  forenoon  was  over  almost 
before  I  knew  it. 

The  interruptions,  however,  were  numerous  and  an 
noying;  some  of  them,  too,  were  amusing.  Depositors 
came,  saw  me  behind  the  bars  of  the  window,  and,  after 
expressing  their  astonishment,  demanded  to  know  what 
I  was  doing  there.  If  I  had  answered  all  the  questions 
put  to  me  by  the  curious  Denboroites  I  should  have 
found  time  for  little  else.  But  Taylor  helped  me  by 
shooing  the  curious  ones  away.  "Don't  bother  the  new 

226 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

hand,"  he  said.  "If  you  want  to  know  particulars  ask 
me.  Anything  I  don't  tell  you  you  can  read  in  next 
week's  Item.  This  is  a  bank,  not  a  question  box." 

Captain  Elisha  Warren  came  in  and  was  as  surprised 
as  the  rest.  After  an  interview  with  the  cashier  he  re 
turned  to  my  window  and  requested  me  to  open  up. 
When  I  did  so  he  reached  in  a  big  hand  and  seized  mine. 

"Shake,  Ros,"  he  said,  heartily.  "I'm  glad  for  the 
bank  and  I'm  gladder  still  for  you.  Come  hard  at  fust, 
does  it?" 

"A  little,"  I  confessed.  "Not  as  hard  as  I  expected, 
though." 

"Fust  day  or  two  out  of  port  is  always  the  toughest. 
You'll  get  your  sea  legs  on  pretty  soon.  Then  you'll  be 
glad  you  shipped,  I  cal'late." 

"I  hope  so,"  I  answered,  rather  dubiously. 

"I  know  you  will.  There's  nothin'  so  tiresome  as  doin' 
nothin'.  I  know,  because  that's  been  my  job  for  quite 
a  spell.  Seems  sometimes  as  if  I'd  have  a  fit,  I  get  so 
sick  of  loafin'." 

His  idea  of  a  "loaf"  was  rising  at  six  and  weeding  his 
garden,  superintending  the  labor  on  his  cranberry 
swamps  or  about  his  barns  and  grounds,  attending  bank 
and  Selectmen's  meetings,  and  generally  keeping  busy 
until  sunset. 

"I  tell  Abbie,  my  housekeeper,"  he  continued,  "that  if 
'twan't  for  my  age  I  believe  I'd  go  to  sea  again  just 
to  keep  from  fallin'  apart  with  dry  rot.  I  asked  her  if 
she'd  noticed  how  my  timbers  creaked,  and  she  said  I 
didn't  keep  still  long  enough  for  her  to  notice  anything. 
Ho!  ho!  Nothin'  makes  her  more  provoked  than  for 
me  to  mention  gettin'  old  or  goin'  to  sea.  All  the  same, 
I  envy  you  your  youth,  Ros.  You've  got  your  life  afore 
you,  and  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you're  goin'  to  make  some- 

227 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

thin'  of  it.  I  always  said  you'd  wake  up  if  somebody 
give  you  a  punch.  Who  punched  you,  Ros  ?" 

My  reply  was  non-committal. 

"Better  mind  my  own  business,  hadn't  I,"  he  observed. 
"All  right,  I  will.  No  offense  meant,  you  understand. 
But,  you  see,  I've  never  believed  that  work  was  the  cuss 
of  mankind,  like  some  folks,  and  no  matter  how  much 
money  a  young  feller's  got  I  think  he's  better  off  doin' 
Eomethin'.  That's  the  gospel  accordin'  to  Elisha.  Well, 
good  luck  and  a  pleasant  v'yage.  See  you  again  soon. 
Say,"  turning  back,  "keep  an  eye  on  George,  will  you? 
Folks  in  love  are  1'ble  to  be  absent-minded,  they  tell  me, 
and  I  should  not  want  him  to  be  absent  with  any  of  my 
money.  Hear  that,  do  you,  George?" 

Taylor,  who  was  standing  near,  laughed  and  walked 
away.  A  mt>ment  later  I  saw  him  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  the  same  strange  expression  on  his  face 
which  I  had  noticed  several  times  before  when  his  ap 
proaching  marriage  was  hinted  at.  Something  was 
troubling  him,  that  was  plain.  He  loved  Nellie  devotedly, 
I  knew;  yet  he  obviously  did  not  like  to  hear  the  mar 
riage  mentioned. 

Sim  Eldredge  was  one  of  the  first  visitors  to  the  bank, 
but  his  visit  was  a  short  one.  He  entered  the  door, 
walked  straight  to  the  teller's  window  and  peered 
through  the  bars.  I  heard  him  catch  his  breath. 

"Good  morning,  Sim,"  said  I.  "What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"Do?"  he  repeated.  "Do  for  me?  Nothin'— nothin', 
'special.  You — you  meant  it,  then?" 

"I  told  you  I  did." 

"My  soul !"  was  all  the  answer  he  made.  Then  he 
turned  and  walked  out. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  I  was  half-way  through  the 

228 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

4«I<JItion  of  a  column  of  figures  when  I  heard  some  one 
say,  "Well,  by  time.'"  with  such  anguished  fervor  that 
it  was  almost  like  a  prayer  for  help.  I  looked  up.  Lute 
Rogers  was  staring  in  at  me,  open-mouthed  and  horror- 
stricken. 

"Hello,  Lute !"  I  said. 

Lute  swallowed  hard. 

"They  told  me  'twas  so,"  he  stammered.  "They  said 
so  and — and  I  laughed  at  'em.  Ros,  you  ain't,  be  you  ?"" 

"What?" 

"Coin'  to  stay  in  there  and — and  take  Henry's  job?" 

"Yes." 

"You  be !  And  you  never  said  nothin'  to  nobody  ?  To 
Dorinda?  Or  even  Comfort?" 

"No;  not  yet." 

"Nor  to  me.  To  me,  by  time !  You  let  them  fellers  at 
the  store  make  a  fool  of  me " 

"No  one  could  do  that,  Lute.  I  have  told  you  so 
often." 

"And  you  let  them  know  it  afore  I  did.  And  me  livin* 
right  in  the  house  with  you !  By  time !  I — I " 

"There,  there,  Lute!  don't  cry.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  when  I  come  home  for  dinner." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  you  might  do  that  much.  Treat- 
in'  your  own  family  like — why  did  you  tell  Sim  Eld- 
redge?" 

"Sim  asked  me  and  so  I  told  him,  that  was  all.  Don't 
stand  there  fidgeting.  Run  along  home,  there's  a  good 
fellow.  Mr.  Taylor  has  his  eye  on  you  already." 

Lute  glanced  apprehensively  toward  the  cashier's  desk 
and  turned  to  go. 

"Well !"  he  exclaimed,  "I've  said  you  was  crazy  more'n 
once,  that's  some  satisfaction.  Say!  can  I  tell  'em  to 
home?" 

229 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  hesitated.  "You  may  tell  Dorinda  if  you  like,"  I  an 
swered.  "But  I  prefer  to  tell  Mother,  myself." 

George  rose  from  his  desk  just  then  and  Lute  hurried 
to  the  door.  I  smiled.  I  imagined  his  arrival  in  our 
kitchen  and  how  he  would  explode  the  sensational  news 
upon  his  unsuspecting  wife. 

But  I  was  not  altogether  calm,  though  I  did  my  best 
to  appear  so,  when  I  entered  that  kitchen  at  a  quarter 
past  twelve.  Lute  was  seated  in  a  chair  by  the  window, 
evidently  watching  and  waiting.  He  sprang  up  as  I  en 
tered. 

"Set  down,"  ordered  Dorinda,  who  was  taking  a  clam 
pie  from  the  oven.  She  merely  nodded  when  I  came  in. 
Dorinda  often  spoke  in  meeting  against  "sinful  pride"; 
yet  she  had  her  share  of  pride,  sinful  or  not.  She  would 
not  ask  questions  or  deign  to  appear  excited,  not  she. 

"But  Dorinda,"  cried  her  husband,  "it's  Ros.  Don't 
you  see?" 

"You  set  down,  Lute  Rogers.  Well,"  turning  to  me, 
"dinner's  ready,  if  you  are." 

"I  shall  be  in  a  few  minutes/'  I  answered.  "I  want 
to  see  Mother  first." 

Breaking  the  news  to  Mother  was  a  duty  which  I 
dreaded.  But  it  turned  out  to  be  not  dreadful  at  all. 
Mother  was  surprised,  of  course,  but  she  did  not  offer  a 
single  objection.  Her  principal  feeling  seemed  to  be 
curiosity  as  to  my  reasons  for  the  sudden  change. 

"Of  course,  Roscoe,  if  you  are  happier  I  shall  be,  too," 
she  said.  "I  know  it  must  have  been  very  dull  for  you 
here.  My  conscience  has  troubled  me  not  a  little  all 
these  years.  I  realize  that  a  man,  a  young  man  like  you, 
needs  an  interest  in  life;  he  wants  something  more  than 
the  care  and  companionship  of  a  useless  creature  like 
me." 

230 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Mother,  how  often  have  I  told  you  not  to  speak  like 
that." 

"But  he  does.  Many  times,  when  you  and  I  have  been 
here  together,  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  urging  you  to 
leave  me  and  go  back  to  the  world  and  take  your  place 
in  it.  More  than  once,  you  remember,  dear,  I  have 
hinted  at  such  a  thing,  but  you  have  always  chosen  not 
to  understand  the  hints,  and  I  have  been  so  weak  and 
selfish  that  I  have  not  pressed  them.  I  am  glad  you 
have  done  this,  if  it  seems  right  to  you.  But  does  it? 
Are  you  sure?" 

"I  think  so,  Mother.     I  confess  I  am  not  sure." 

"This  country  bank  is  a  pretty  small  place,  isn't  it? 
Not  big  enough  for  my  boy  to  prove  his  worth  in." 

"It  is  quite  big  enough  for  that.  That  doesn't  require 
a  Rothschild's  establishment." 

"But  your  decision  must  have  been  a  very  sudden  one. 
You  did  not  mention  that  you  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
Not  even  to  me." 

"It  was  sudden,"  I  answered.  "I  took  the  position  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"But  why?    What  led  you  to  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mother." 

"What  influenced  you  ?    Has  any  one  urged  you  ?" 

"George  Taylor  offered  me  the  place  some  time  ago. 
He  urged  me." 

"No  one  else?" 

I  avoided  the  issue.  "You  don't  mind,  then,  Mother," 
I  said.  "You  are  willing  that  I  should  try  the  experi 
ment?" 

"I  am  glad,  if  it  pleases  you.  And  you  must  let  me 
say  this  now,  Roscoe,  because  it  is  true  and  I  mean  it. 
If  another  and  better  opportunity  comes  to  you,  one  that 
might  take  you  away  from  Denboro — and  from  me — for 

231 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

a  time,  of  course,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you 
will  not  refuse  it  on  my  account.  Will  you  promise  ?" 

"No.  Of  course  I  shan't  promise  any  such  thing.  Is 
it  likely  that  I  would  leave  you,  Mother?" 

"I  know  that  you  would  not  leave  me  unless  I  were 
willing  for  you  to  go.  I  know  that,  Roscoe.  But  I  am 
much  better  and  stronger  than  I  was.  I  shall  never  be 
well " 

"Don't  say  that,"  I  interrupted,  hastily. 

"But  I  must  say  it,  because  it  is  true.  I  shall  never  be 
well,  but  I  am  strong  enough  now  to  bear  the  thought  of 
your  leaving  me  and  when  the  time  comes  I  shall  insist 
upon  your  doing  so.  I  am  glad  we  have  had  this  talk, 
dear.  I  am  glad,  too,  that  you  are  going  to  be  busy  once 
more  in  the  way  you  like  and  ought  to  be.  You  must  tell 
me  about  your  work  every  day.  Now  go,  because  your 
dinner  is  ready  and,  of  course,  you  must  be  getting  back 
to  the  bank.  Kiss  me,  Boy." 

And  as  I  bent  over  her  she  put  her  arms  about  my 
neck. 

"Boy,"  she  whispered,  "I  know  there  is  some  reason 
for  your  doing  this,  a  reason  which  you  have  not  told  me. 
You  will  tell  me  some  day,  won't  you?" 

I  straightened  hurriedly  and  tried  to  laugh.  "Of 
course  I'll  tell  you,  Mother,"  I  replied.  "If  there  is  any 
thing  to  tell." 

The  clam  pie  was  on  the  table  in  the  dining-room  and 
Dorinda  was  seated  majestically  before  it.  Lute  was 
fidgeting  in  his  chair. 

"Here  he  is,"  he  exclaimed,  as  I  joined  the  pair  at  the 
table.  "Ros,  how  did  you  ever  come  to  do  it?" 

His  wife  squelched  him,  as  usual.  'If  Roscoe's  got 
anything  to  tell,"  she  observed,  with  dignity,  "he'll  tell  it 
without  your  help  or  anybody  else's.  If  he  ain't,  he 

232 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

won't.  This  pie's  colder  than  it  ought  to  be,  but  that 
isn't  my  fault." 

As  I  ate  I  told  them  of  my  sudden  determination  to 
become  a  laboring  man.  I  gave  the  reasons  that  I  had 
given  Mother. 

"Um-hm,"  said  Dorinda. 

"But  I  can't  understand,"  pleaded  Lute.  "You  don't 
need  to  work,  and  I've  sort  of  took  a  pride  in  your  not 
doin'  it.  If  I  was  well-off,  same  as  you  be,  I  bet  George 
Taylor'd  have  to  whistle  afore  I  wore  out  my  brains  in 
his  old  bank." 

"He  wouldn't  have  time  to  whistle  more'n  once,"  was 
Dorinda's  comment. 

"Now,  Dorinda,  what  kind  of  talk  is  that?  Wouldn't 
have  time  to  whistle?  You  do  say  more  things  without 
any  sense  to  'em !  Just  talk  to  hear  yourself,  I  cal'late. 
What  are  you  grinnin'  at,  Roscoe?" 

"I  can't  imagine,  Lute.  This  clam  pie  is  a  triumph. 
May  I  have  another  helping,  Dorinda?" 

Dorinda  did  not  answer,  but  the  second  helping  was  a 
liberal  one.  She  was  so  quiet  and  the  glances  she  gave 
me  from  time  to  time  were  so  odd  that  I  began  to  feel 
uneasy.  I  was  fairly  sure  that  she  approved  of  my  new 
venture,  but  why  did  she  look  at  me  like  that? 

"Well,"  said  I,  looking  at  my  watch  and  rising,  "what 
do  you  think  of  it?  Am  I  doing  right?" 

Lute  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "There's  consider'ble  to 
be  said  on  that  subject,"  he  announced.  "Work,  as  a 
general  thing,  I  consider  all  right;  I've  told  you  that 
afore.  But  when  it  comes  to " 

"What  do  you  think,  Dorinda  ?"  I  interrupted. 

Dorinda  stirred  her  tea. 

"Think?"  she  repeated.  "I  think  .  .  .  When's 
that  Colton  girl  comin'  to  call  on  Comfort  again  ?" 

233 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  had  taken  my  hat  from  the  hook.  Now,  with  it  in 
my  hand,  I  turned  and  faced  her. 

"How  should  I  know  that?"  I  demanded.  "That's  a 
trifle  off  the  subject,  isn't  it?" 

"Um-hm,"  said  Dorinda.     "Maybe  'tis." 

I  went  out  hurriedly. 

Within  the  week  I  was  at  home  in  my  new  position. 
The  strangeness  of  regular  hours  and  regular  employ 
ment  wore  away  with  surprising  rapidity.  There  were, 
of  course,  mornings  when  sea  and  sky  and  the  freshness 
of  outdoors  tempted  me  and  I  wondered  whether  or  not 
I  had  been  foolish  to  give  up  my  fine  and  easy  life.  But 
these  periods  of  temptation  were  shorter  and  less  fre 
quent  as  I  became  more  and  more  familiar  with  my  du 
ties  and  with  the  routine  of  the  bank.  I  found  myself 
taking  a  greater  interest  in  the  institution  and,  to  my  as 
tonishment,  I  was  actually  sorry  when  Saturday  came. 
It  seemed  odd  enough  to  once  more  have  money  in  my 
pocket  which  I  had  earned.  It  was  not  a  great  amount, 
of  course,  but  I  felt  it  to  be  mine.  Yes,  there  was  no 
doubt  about  it,  I  had  done  the  right  thing,  and  was  glad. 
I  was  grateful  to  Taylor  for  having  given  me  the  oppor 
tunity.  Perhaps  I  should  have  been  grateful  to  the 
person  whose  brutal  and  impertinent  frankness  had 
piqued  me  into  grasping  that  opportunity,  but  I  was 
not." 

She  made  her  second  call  upon  Mother  two  days  after 
our  impromptu  picnic  at  Seabury's  Pond.  I  heard  all 
about  it  when  I  came  home  that  afternoon.  It  appeared 
that  she  had  brought  more  flowers  and  a  fresh  supply  of 
books.  She  had  remained  even  longer  than  on  her  first 
visit  and  she  and  Mother  had  talked  about  almost  every 
thing  under  the  sun.  One  topic,  however,  had  not  been 
discussed,  a  fact  which  my  guarded  questions  made  cer- 

234 


THE   RISE  OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

tain.  She,  like  myself,  had  said  nothing  concerning  the 
day  in  the  woods. 

"I  told  her  of  your  consenting  to  help  Mr.  Taylor  in 
his  dilemma,"  said  Mother. 

"Did  you?"  said  I.  "It  was  kind  of  you  to  put  it  in 
that  way." 

"That  was  the  truthful  way  of  putting  it,  wasn't  it? 
She  seemed  very  much  interested." 

"Indeed.    And  surprised,  I  presume." 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  so.  She  seemed  surprised  at  first ; 
then  she  laughed ;  I  could  not  understand  why.  She  has 
a  very  pleasant  laugh,  hasn't  she?" 

"I  have  never  noticed."    This  was  untrue. 

"She  has.  She  is  a  charming  girl.  I  am  sorry  you 
were  not  here  when  she  called.  I  told  her  you  would 
be  home  soon  and  asked  her  to  wait,  but  she  would  not." 

"I  am  glad  she  didn't." 

"Roscoe!" 

"I  am,  Mother.  That  young  lady  comes  here  to  see 
you  merely  because  she  has  nothing  else  to  do  just  now. 
I  shouldn't  accept  too  many  favors  from  her." 

Mother  said  I  was  unreasonable  and  prejudiced  and 
I  did  not  argue  the  point.  Lute  and  Dorinda  discussed 
the  caller  at  the  supper  table  until  I  was  constrained  to 
leave  the  room.  Mabel  Colton  might  amuse  herself  with 
Mother  and  the  two  members  of  our  household  whom 
she  had  described  as  "characters,"  she  might  delude  them 
into  believing  her  thoughtful  and  sympathetic  and  with 
out  false  pride,  but  I  knew  better.  She  had  insulted 
me.  She  had,  in  so  many  words,  told  me  that  I  was 
lazy  and  worthless,  just  as  she  might  have  told  her 
chauffeur  or  one  of  the  servants.  That  it  was  true  made 
no  difference.  Would  she  have  spoken  in  that  way  to — 
to  Victor  Carver,  for  instance?  Hardly.  She  was  just 

235 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

what  I  had  thought  her  at  first,  a  feminine  edition  of 
Victor,  with  more  brains  than  he  possessed. 

Captain  Jed  Dean  came  into  the  bank  the  third  day 
after  my  installation  as  bookkeeper  and  teller.  I  was 
alone  in  the  director's  room,  going  over  some  papers, 
and  he  entered  and  shook  hands  with  me.  The  old  fel 
low  professed  delight  at  my  presence  there. 

"George  tells  me  you're  takin'  hold  fust-rate,"  he  said. 
"That's  good.  I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Why?"  I  asked.  There  was  a  trace  of  his  old  pom 
posity  in  the  speech — or  I  imagined  there  was — and  I 
chose  to  resent  it.  These  were  the  days  when  I  was  in 
the  mood  to  resent  almost  anything. 

"Why?"  he  repeated,  in  surprise.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"Why  are  you  glad  ?"  I  said.  "I  can't  see  what  differ 
ence  it  makes  to  you  whether  I  succeed  or  not." 

He  regarded  me  with  a  puzzled  expression,  but,  in 
stead  of  taking  offense,  he  laughed. 

"You've  got  a  chip  on  your  shoulder,  ain't  you,  Ros?" 
he  observed.  "WorkhV  you  too  hard  at  the  start,  are 
we?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  curtly. 

"Then  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Why,  nothing,  unless  it  is  that  everyone  I  meet  seems 
to  take  such  a  great  interest  in  my  being  here.  I  believe 
all  of  Denboro  talks  of  nothing  else." 

"Not  much  else,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  But  that's  to  be 
expected,  ain't  it?  Everybody's  glad  you're  makin' 
good." 

"Humph !  They  all  seem  to  regard  that  as  the  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world.  The  position  doesn't  require  a 
marvel  of  intelligence ;  almost  any  one  with  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  brains  could  fill  it." 

236 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why  no,  they  couldn't.  But  that's  nothin'  to  do  with 
it.  I  see  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Ros.  •  You  think 
all  hands  are  knocked  on  their  beam  ends  because  you've 
gone  to  work.  Some  of  'em  are,  that's  a  fact,  and  you 
can't  blame  'em  much,  considerin'  how  long  you've  lived 
here  without  doin'  anything.  But  all  of  'em  that  amount 
to  a  three-cent  piece  are  glad,  and  the  rest  don't  count 
anyway.  You've  made  a  good  many  friends  in  this  town 
lately,  son." 

I  smiled  bitterly.    "Friends,"  I  said. 

"Why,  yes,  friends.  And  friends  are  worth  havin', 
especially  if  you  make  'em  without  beggin'  for  their 
friendship.  I  give  in  that  you've  surprised  some  of  us. 
We  didn't  know  that  you  had  it  in  you.  But  your  stand- 
in'  up  to  old  Colton  was  a  fine  thing,  and  we  appreciated 
it." 

"That  is  because  you  were  against  his  grabbing  the 
Lane." 

"What  of  it  ?  And  'twan't  that  altogether.  I,  for  one, 
ain't  complainin'  because  you  stood  up  to  me  and 
wouldn't  sell  to  the  town.  By  the  way,  Tim  Hallet's 
gang  haven't  bothered  you  lately,  have  they?" 

"No.    And  I  advise  them  not  to." 

He  chuckled.  "I  heard  you  advised  'em  to  that  effect," 
he  said.  "I  ain't  complainin'  at  that,  either,  even  though 
I  knew  what  they  was  up  to  and  thought  'twas  more  or 
less  of  a  joke.  But  I  liked  the  way  you  fired  'em  out  of 
there,  not  carin'  a  tinker's  darn  who  was  behind  'em.  So 
long  as  a  man  stands  square  in  his  boots  and  don't 
knuckle  to  anybody  he  won't  lose  anything  with  Jed 
Dean.  That's  me !" 

"You  ought  to  like  Colton,  then,"  I  said.  "He  hasn't 
knuckled,  much." 

Captain  Jed  grinned.    "Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  don't 

237 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

object  to  that  in  him.  He  seems  to  be  a  fighter  and 
that's  all  right.  Maybe  if  I  was  one  of  his  tribe  in  New 
York  I  should  like  him.  But  I  ain't.  And  you  ain't, 
Ros.  We're  both  of  us  country  folks,  livin'  here,  and 
he's  a  city  shark  buttin'  into  the  feedin'  grounds.  He 
wants  to  hog  the  whole  place  and  you  and  I  say  he 
shan't.  I'm  thankful  to  him  for  one  thing:  his  comin' 
here  has  waked  you  up,  and  it's  goin'  to  make  a  man  of 
you,  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"You  mustn't  get  mad  because  I  talk  this  way,"  he 
went  on.  "I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  dad,  Ros  Paine, 
and  I  know  what  I'm  talkin'  about.  I  never  took  much 
of  a  shine  to  you  in  the  old  days.  You  was  too  much  of 
what  the  story  books  call  a  'gentleman'  to  suit  me.  I've 
had  to  scratch  all  my  life  for  what  I've  got,  but  I've  got 
it.  When  a  young,  able  feller  like  you  was  contented  to 
loaf  around  as  you  did  and  take  no  interest  in  nothin',  I, 
naturally,  figgered  he  was  no-account.  I  see  now  I  was 
wrong.  All  you  needed  was  somethin'  to  stir  you  up 
and  set  you  goin'.  Keep  goin',  that's  my  advice  to  you. 
And  so  long  as  you  do,  and  don't  bend  when  the  pres 
sure  gets  hard,  you'll  be  somebody  afore  you  die.  And 
the  friends  you've  made'll  stand  back  of  you." 

"How  about  the  enemies  I  have  made?" 

"Enemies  ?  I  suppose  likely  you  have  made  some  ene 
mies,  but  what  of  it  ?  I've  made  enemies  all  my  life.  It 
ain't  because  I'm  popular  here  in  Denboro  that  I'm  what 
I  am.  Now  is  it?" 

The  truthful  answer  would  have  been  no.  Captain 
Dean  was  not  popular,  but  he  was  respected  even  by  the 
many  who  disliked  and  disagreed  with  him.  I  hesi 
tated,  trying  to  think  what  to  say. 

"You  know  'tain't  that,"  he  said.  "Popularity  I  never 

238 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

had,  though  it's  a  pleasant  enough  thing  and  sometimes 
I  wish — But  there,  this  ain't  experience  meetin'.  I'm 
glad  you're  here  in  this  bank.  You're  smart,  and  George 
says  you  are  worth  more  than  Henry  Small  ever  was, 
even  so  early.  If  you  really  are  what  it  begins  to  look 
as  if  you  are  I'm  glad  for  Denboro.  Maybe  there'll 
be  somebody  besides  George  fit  to  run  this  town  after 
I'm  gone." 

I  smiled.  The  last  remark  was  so  characteristic  that 
it  was  funny.  He  was  turning  away,  but  he  noticed  the 
smile  and  turned  back. 

"That's  a  joke,  hey?"  he  asked. 

"Captain,"  I  said,  "you  are  not  consistent.  When  you 
and  I  first  talked  about  the  Lane  you  said  that  you 
would  not  blame  me  if  I  closed  it.  If  it  was  yours  you 
wouldn't  have  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  driving  fish  carts 
through  it." 

"Did  I  say  that?" 

"Yes.  And  you  said,  on  another  occasion,  that  anyone 
would  sell  anything  if  they  were  offered  money  enough." 

"Humph !  Well,  sometimes  I  say  'most  anything  but 
my  prayers.  Matildy  says  I  forget  them  pretty  often, 
but  I  tell  her  her  Friday  night  speeches  are  long  enough 
to  make  up.  Maybe  I  meant  what  I  said  to  you  at  those 
times,  Ros.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  did.  But  'twas  a 
lie  just  the  same.  There  are  things  I  wouldn't  sell,  of 
course.  Nellie,  my  daughter's  one  of  'em.  She's  goin' 
to  get  a  good  husband  in  George  here,  but  her  happiness 
means  more  to  me  than  money.  She's  one  of  the  things 
I  wouldn't  sell.  And  my  Selectman's  job  is  another.  I 
fought  for  that,  not  so  much  for  the  honor,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,  but  because — well,  because  I  wanted  to  show 
'em  that  I  could  get  it  if  I  set  out  to.  I  don't  presume 
likely  you  can  understand  that  feelin', " 

239 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  think  I  can,"  I  answered.  "Mr.  Colton  gave  about 
the  same  reason  for  his  determination  to  close  the  Lane. 
You  and  he  seem  to  be  a  good  deal  alike,  after  all." 

He  looked  at  me  from  beneath  his  bushy  brows.  His 
mouth  twisted  in  a  grim  smile. 

"Say,  son,"  he  said,  "if  I  hadn't  been  so  free  with  my 
proclamations  about  bein'  your  friend  you  and  me  would 
have  a  settlement  for  that  little  bit  of  talk.  The  Em 
peror  and  me  alike !  Ugh !" 

The  next  afternoon  he  came  in  again  and  asked  me  to 
step  outside  the  railing.  He  had  something  to  say  to  me, 
he  declared. 

We  sat  down  together  on  the  settee  by  the  wall. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "have  you  had  any  new 
offer  for  your  property?  Not  from  Colton  or  the  town, 
but  from  anybody  else?" 

"No,"  I  answered.    "What  do  you  mean  r 

"You  ain't  heard  anything  from  a  Boston  firm  claimin' 
to  represent  the  Bay  Shore  Development  Company,  or 
some  such?" 

"No.    What  sort  of  a  company  is  that?" 

"I  don't  know ;  that  is,  I  don't  know  much  about  it. 
But  there's  talk  driftin'  'round  that  a  Boston  syndicate 
is  cal'latin'  to  buy  up  all  the  shore  front  land  from  South 
Ostable  to  the  Bayport  line  and  open  it  up  for  summer 
house  lots.  The  name  is  the  Bay  Shore  Development 
Company,  or  somethin'  like  that.  You  ain't  heard  from 
'em,  then?" 

"Not  a  word.  Where  did  your  information  come 
from?" 

"From  nobody  in  particular.  It  just  seems  to  be  in 
the  air.  Alvin  Baker  heard  it  over  to  Ostable.  The  feller 
that  told  him  got  it  from  somebody  else,  who  got  it  from 
another  somebody,  and  so  on.  There's  talk  about  good 

240 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

prices  bein'  offered  and,  accordin'  to  Alvin,  Ostable  folks 
are  pretty  excited.  Elnathan  Mullet,  who  owns  that 
strip  below  your  house,  knows  somethin'  about  it,  I  think. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he'd  had  an  offer,  or  a  hint,  or 
somethin'.  But  Elnathan's  mouth  shuts  tighter  than  a 
muskrat  trap  and  I  couldn't  get  nothin'  out  of  him.  He 
just  looked  knowin'  and  that  was  all.  But,  if  it's  so,  it 
may  mean  a  heap  to  Denboro." 

I  was  considering  the  news  when  he  spoke  again. 

"It  might  mean  a  lot  to  you,  Ros,"  he  whispered. 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  this  way:  If  this  concern  offered  you  enough 
money  you  might  sell  out  to  them,  mightn't  you?  Sell 
all  your  place,  I  mean;  you  could  get  another  one  easy 
enough.  You  ain't  particular  about  livin'  by  the  shore." 

"But — you  urge  me  to  sell!"  I  exclaimed.  "Sell  the 
Shore  Lane  with  the  rest?" 

"Why  not?  You  wouldn't  be  sellin'  to  Colton.  And, 
if  this  development  scheme  is  what  they  say  it  is,  there'll 
be  roads  cut  through  all  along  shore.  The  town  could 
use  any  of  'em ;  at  least  that  arrangement  might  be  made. 
Think  it  over,  Ros.  If  they  do  offer  and  offer  enough, 
I'd  sell,  if  I  was  you.  Say !  that  would  be  a  reef  under 
His  Majesty's  bows,  hey?  Jolt  him  some,  I  cal'late." 

I  did  not  answer.  This  was  a  new  possibility.  Of 
course  his  reason  for  advising  my  selling  was  plain 
enough,  but,  leaving  the  Coltons  entirely  aside,  the  idea 
was  not  without  allurement.  The  town's  convenience  in 
the  matter  of  a  road  might  be  considered,  just  as  he  said. 
And  my  scruples  against  selling  at  a  profit  were,  after 
all,  based  upon  that  feature. 

"You  think  it  over,"  he  counseled.  "Don't  say  nothin' 
to  nobody,  but  just  think — and  wait.  I'll  keep  my  eye  to 
wind'ard  and  see  what  I  can  find  out.  I  tell  you  honest, 

241 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Ros,  I'll  feel  safer  when  I  know  old  Imperial's  game's 
blocked  for  good  and  all:" 

Old  Imperial  himself  made  his  appearance  before  clos 
ing  hours.  I  looked  up  from  my  work  to  see  him  stand 
ing  by  the  window.  He  had  not  expected  to  see  me 
there — evidently  his  daughter  had  not  considered  Moth 
er's  news  of  sufficient  importance  to  repeat — and,  at  first, 
he  did  not  recognize  me. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Colton,"  said  I. 

He  nodded.  "Cash  this  for  me,  will  you,"  he  said, 
pushing  a  check  through  the  opening.  "What?  Hello! 
What  in  blazes  are  you  doing  in  there  ?" 

'I  am  employed  here  now,"  I  answered. 

"Humph!  how  long  since?" 

"Ten  days,  or  such  matter." 

"What  are  you  doing  in  a  bank?" 

"Banking  was  my  business,  at  one  time." 

"Thought  you  hadn't  any  business." 

"I  haven't  had  any,  for  some  years.  Now  I  have. 
How  do  you  wish  this  money  ?  In  tens  and  fives  ?" 

"Yes.  Nothing  bigger.  Down  here  it  restricts  the 
circulation  if  you  spring  a  twenty  dollar  bill  on  them. 
So  you've  taken  to  banking?  I  was  thinking  of  corraling 
you  for  a  gunning  trip  one  of  these  days.  Now  it's  all 
off,  I  suppose." 

"It  looks  that  way.  Sorry  I  am  to  be  deprived  of  the 
pleasure." 

"Humph!"  Then,  with  one  of  his  sudden  changes, 
"How  big  a  business  does  this  concern  do?  What  do 
your  deposits  amount  to?" 

I  gave  him  the  figures,  as  printed  in  the  yearly  state 
ment.  He  made  no  comment.  Instead  he  observed, 
"You  haven't  been  around  to  accept  that  offer  of  mine 
yet,  Paine." 

242 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Not  yet,"  I  answered. 

"Suppose  I  ought  to  raise  it,  now  that  you're  a  finan 
cier  yourself.  However,  I  shan't." 

"I  haven't  asked  you  to." 

He  smiled.  "No,  you  haven't,"  he  said.  "Well,  it  is 
open — for  a  while.  If  I  were  you  I'd  accept  it  pretty 
soon." 

"Possibly." 

"Meaning  that  I  am  not  you,  hey  ?  I'm  not.  I  haven't 
your  high  principles,  Paine.  Can't  afford  'em.  You're 
what  they  call  a  'Progressive'  in  politics,  too,  aren't  you?" 

"Here  is  your  money,"  I  said,  ignoring  the  question. 

"I'll  bet  you  are!"  he  declared,  taking  the  bills.  "I 
never  saw  one  of  you  high-principled  chaps  yet  that 
wasn't — until  he  got  rich  enough  to  be  something  else. 
Progress  is  all  right,  maybe,  but  I  notice  that  you  fellows 
pay  for  it  and  the  rest  of  us  get  it.  Just  as  I  am  going 
to  get  that  land  of  yours." 

"You  haven't  got  it  yet,"  I  said,  serenely.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  this  time  he  should  not  provoke  me  into 
losing  my  temper. 

He  seemed  to  divine  my  determination.  His  eye 
twinkled.  "You're  improving,  Paine,"  he  observed. 
"I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  advice;  it  has  cost  me  a  good 
deal  to  learn,  but  I'll  give  it  to  you :  Don't  ever  let  the 
other  fellow  make  you  mad." 

I  remembered  our  first  interview  and  I  could  not  re 
sist  the  temptation  to  retort. 

"If  my  recollection  is  correct,"  I  said,  "you  forgot  that 
the  first  time  we  met." 

He  laughed  aloud.  "So  I  did,"  he  admitted.  "Maybe 
if  I  hadn't  it  would  not  cost  me  so  much  to  get  my  own 
way  in  your  case." 

He  walked  out  of  the  building.    I  heard  one  exclama- 

243 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

tion  from  behind  and,  turning,  saw  Sam  Wheeler,  my 
youthful  assistant,  staring  at  me. 

"My — gosh!"  exclaimed  Sam,  his  tone  a  mixture  of 
wonder  and  admiration,  "I  don't  see  how  you  dast  to  talk 
back  to  him  like  that,  Ros.  He'll  sic  the — the  'System' 
onto  you,  won't  he  ?" 

It  was  evident  that  Sam  had  been  reading  the  maga 
zines. 

I  heard  no  more  from  Captain  Jed  and  nothing  from 
the  mysterious  "Development  Company"  for  the  re 
mainder  of  that  week.  But  on  Sunday,  as  I  sat  in  the 
boat  house,  smoking  my  after  dinner  pipe  and  reading, 
Lute  excitedly  entered,  followed  by  a  well-dressed, 
smooth-shaven  man  of  middle  age,  whom  he  introduced 
as  Mr.  Keene  of  Boston,  "who's  driven  all  the  way  from 
Ostable  a-purpose  to  see  you,  Ros." 

Mr.  Keene  shook  hands  with  me  cordially  and  apolo 
gized  for  intruding  upon  my  day  of  rest.  He  intended 
returning  to  the  city  in  the  morning,  he  said,  and,  as  he 
had  a  little  matter  to  discuss  with  me,  had  taken  the 
liberty  of  calling.  "I  shan't  take  more  than  half  an  hour 
of  your  time,  Mr.  Paine,"  he  explained.  "At  least  I 
feel  certain  that  you  and  I  can  reach  an  agreement  in 
that  period.  If  I  might  be  alone  with  you " 

This  hint,  evidently  intended  for  Lute's  benefit,  was 
quite  lost  upon  the  last  named  individual,  who  had  seated 
himself  on  the  edge  of  the  work  bench  and  was  listening 
with  both  ears.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  him  that  his  pres- 
-ence  was  superfluous  and  request  his  returning  to  the 
house,  which  he  reluctantly  did,  moving  slowly  and  look 
ing  back  with  an  expression  of  grieved  disappointment. 
After  he  had  gone  I  asked  Mr.  Keene  what  his  "little 
matter"  might  be. 

His  reply  was  prompt  and  to  the  point.  He  gave  me 

244 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

his  card.  He  was,  it  seemed,  junior  partner  in  the  firm 
of  Barclay  and  Keene,  real  estate  brokers  and  promoters, 
Milk  Street,  Boston.  And,  just  now,  he  was  acting  as 
representative  of  the  Bay  Shore  Development  Company. 
"A  concern  of  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  precautions  and 
attempts  at  secrecy,  you  may,  perhaps,  have  heard,  Mr. 
Paine,"  he  added,  smiling. 

I  admitted  that  I  had  heard  rumors  concerning  the 
company's  existence.  But,  except  for  these  very  vague 
rumors,  I  knew  nothing  about  it. 

He  expected  that,  he  said,  and  was  glad  to  give  me 
further  and  complete  information.  In  fact,  that  was  his 
reason  for  coming  so  many  miles  to  see  me.  If  I  would 
be  good  enough  to  listen  he  would  tell  me  just  what  the 
Bay  Shore  Company  was  and  what  it  contemplated 
doing. 

I  listened  and  he  talked.  According  to  him  the  Bay 
Shore  syndicate — that  is  what  it  was,  a  syndicate  of 
capitalists — represented  one  of  the  biggest  real  estate 
propositions  ever  conceived.  Those  behind  it  were  awake 
to  the  possibilities  of  the  Cape  as  a  summer  resort. 
Shore  land,  water  front  property  in  the  vicinity,  was 
destined  to  increase  in  value,  provided  it  was  properly  ex 
ploited  and  developed.  The  company's  idea  was  to  do 
just  that — exploit  and  develop. 

"We've  been  quietly  looking  about,"  he  continued,  "and 
are  all  ready  for  the  preliminaries.  And  naturally,  the 
first  preliminary  is  to  secure  the  land  to  develop.  You 
have  some  of  that  land,  Mr.  Paine.  We  know  just  how 
much,  as  we  do  the  holdings  of  every  other  party  we  have 
approached  or  intend  to  approach.  I  am  here  to  get  your 
figures  and,  if  possible,  conclude  the  purchase  of  your 
property  this  afternoon.  It  is  Sunday,  of  course,"  he 
added,  with  a  good-humored  laugh,  "and  contracts  signed 

245 


THE   RISE    OF    ROSCOE    PAINE 

to-day  are  not  legal ;  but  we  can  make  a  verbal  contract 
and  the  papers  may  be  signed  later.  I  will  defer  my  de 
parture  until  the  afternoon  train  to-morrow  for  that  pur 
pose.  Now  name  your  figure,  Mr.  Paine." 

Of  course  I  had  guessed  what  was  coming.  If  I  in 
tended  to  sell  at  all  here  was  my  opportunity  to  do  so — 
to,  as  Captain  Jed  expressed  it,  "block  Colton's  game" 
without  sacrificing  the  principle  for  which  I  had  fought, 
and  make  a  good  bit  of  money  for  myself.  Another  home 
near  by  could  be  secured,  I  had  no  doubt,  and  to  it 
Mother  might  be  safely  and  easily  moved.  Yet  I  hesi 
tated  to  express  even  a  qualified  willingness. 

"You  appear  to  be  certain  that  I  will  sell,"  I  observ 
ed.  "Isn't  that  taking  a  good  deal  for  granted,  Mr. 
Keene?" 

He  smiled — in  fact  he  smiled  almost  too  often  to  please 
me.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  cordial  and  good- 
natured;  and  he  was  so  very  friendly  on  short  acquain 
tance. 

"I  understand,"  he  said.  "I  have  heard  about  you,  Mr. 
Paine.  This,  however,  is  a  different  matter.  We  are  not 
hogs,  Mr.  Paine,  but  business  men.  If  our  plans  go 
through,  Denboro  will  be  grateful  to  us  and  to  you." 

"If  they  go  through?  I  thought  you  were  certain  of 
their  going  through." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  There  is,  of  course,  an  'if  in  all 
human  plans,  but  our  particular  'if  is  a  small  one.  I 
hope  you  will  name  your  figure  now,  at  once.  Don't  be 
afraid.  We  are  disposed  to  be  liberal.  And,  understand, 
this  is  entirely  a  cash  transaction.  You  shall  have  the 
money  in  one  hand  as 'you  sign  the  contract  with  the 
other.  Ha!  ha!  What  is  the  price  to  be?" 

But  I  would  not  name  a  price.  I  seemed  to  feel  as 
unreasonably  reluctant  to  close  with  the  Bay  Shore  De- 

246 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

velopment  Company  as  I  had  been  with  Captain  Jed  or 
Colton. 

"Shall  I  make  a  bid?"  asked  Keene. 

"No,  not  yet  at  any  rate.  Tell  me,  this:  Whose  land 
have  you  already  bought?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "That,  of  course,"  he  said,  with 
the  same  gracious  smile,  "I  can  hardly  tell  even  to  you. 
Some  of  the  deals  are  not  yet  closed,  and,  as  a  business 
man  yourself,  Mr.  Paine,  you " 

"I  am  not  a  business  man,"  I  interrupted,  impatiently. 
"At  least,  not  much  of  a  one.  You  say  there  are  cap 
italists  behind  your  scheme.  Who  are  they?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  my  knee.  "Why,  that,"  he  said, 
"is  a  secret  no  one  is  supposed  to  know.  Men — finan 
ciers  such  as  we  are  proud  to  serve — permit  their  names 
to  be  known  only  when  the  corporation  is  ready  to  begin 
actual  operations.  That  is  natural  enough.  If  I  were  to 
mention  names — well,  some  of  your  Yankee  neighbors 
would  want  to  become  millionaires  before  selling." 

There  was  truth  in  this.  I  imagine  that  he  guessed 
he  had  made  an  impression,  for  he  went  on  to  shout  his 
praises  of  the  company  and  the  greatness  of  its  plan. 
He  talked  and  talked ;  in  fact  he  talked  too  much.  I  did 
not  like  to  hear  him.  I  did  not  like  him,  that  was  the 
trouble.  He  was  too  smooth  and  voluble  altogether.  And 
he  made  a  mistake  in  patting  my  knee. 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  rising  from  my  chair;  "I'll  think 
it  over." 

He  was  plainly  disappointed.  "I  don't  wish  to  hurry 
you,  of  course,"  he  said,  not  moving  from  his  chair, 
"but  we  are  anxious  to  close.  This  is  to  be  cash,  re 
member,  and  I  stand  ready  to  make  an  offer.  I  am  sure 
we  can  reach  an  agreement,  satisfactory  to  both  sides, 
Mr.  Paine." 

247 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Perhaps,  but  I  prefer  to  think  the  matter  over  be 
fore  naming  a  price  or  hearing  your  offer." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  did  not  intend  to  sell,  or  consider 
selling,  until  I  had  discussed  the  whole  affair  with 
Mother.  But  there  was  no  need  to  tell  him  that. 

"I  am  sorry,  I  confess,"  he  said.  "I  hoped  this  par 
ticular  deal  might  be  closed.  We  have  so  many  of  these 
little  details,  Mr.  Paine,  and  time  is  money.  However, 
if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  presume  the  company  will  be 
willing  to  wait  a  few  days." 

"I  am  afraid  it  will  have  to." 

"Very  well,  very  well.  I  shall  be  down  again  in  a 
day  or  two.  Of  course,  waiting  may  have  some  effect 
upon  the  price.  To-day  I  was  empowered  to  ... 
You  don't  care  to  hear?  Very  well.  So  glad  to  have 
met  you,  Mr.  Paine.  Of  course  you  will  not  mention 
the  subject  of  our  interview  to  anyone.  Business  secrets, 
you  know.  Thank  you,  thank  you.  And  I  will  see  you 
again — Thursday,  shall  we  say?" 

I  refused  to  say  Thursday,  principally  because  he  had 
said  it  first.  I  suggested  Saturday  instead.  He  agreed, 
shook  hands  as  if  I  were  an  old  friend  from  whom  he 
parted  with  regret,  and  left  me. 

No,  I  did  not  like  Mr.  Keene.  He  was  too  polite  and 
too  familiar.  And,  as  I  thought  over  his  words,  th* 
whole  prospectus  of  the  Bay  Shore  Development  Com 
pany  seemed  singularly  vague.  The  proposal  to  buy  my 
land  was  definite  enough,  but  the  rest  of  it  was,  appar 
ently,  very  much  in  the  air.  There  was  too  much  secrecy 
about  it.  No  one  was  to  tell  anyone  anything.  I  was 
glad  I  had  insisted  upon  time  for  consideration.  I  in 
tended  to  consider  thoroughly. 


CHAPTER  XiV 

WHEN  I  left  the  boat  house  I  did  not  go  directly 
home,  but  wandered  along  the  beach.  I  had 
puzzled  my  brain  with  Mr.  Keene  and  his  er 
rand  until  I  determined  not  to  puzzle  it  any  longer  that 
day.  If  my  suspicions  were  unfounded  and  existed 
merely  because  of  my  dislike  of  the  Bay  Shore  Com 
pany's  representative,  then  they  were  not  worth  worry. 
If  they  were  well  founded  I  had  almost  a  week  in  which 
to  discover  the  fact.  I  would  dismiss  the  whole  matter 
from  my  thoughts.  The  question  as  to  whether  or  not 
I  would  sell  the  land  at  all  to  anybody,  which  was,  after 
all,  the  real  question,  I  resolved  to  put  off  answering 
until  I  had  had  my  talk  with  Mother. 

I  walked  on  by  the  water's  edge  until  I  reached  the 
Lane ;  turning  into  that  much  coveted  strip  of  territory 
I  continued  until  I  came  opposite  the  Colton  mansion, 
where,  turning  again,  I  strolled  homeward  by  the  path 
through  the  grove.  Unconsciously  my  wandering 
thoughts  strayed  to  Mabel  Colton.  It  was  here  that  I 
had  met  her  on  two  occasions.  I  had  an  odd  feeling  that 
I  should  meet  her  here  again,  that  she  was  here  now.  I 
had  no  reason  for  thinking  such  a  thing,  certainly  the 
wish  was  not  father  to  the  thought,  but  at  every  bend 
in  the  path,  as  the  undergrowth  hid  the  way,  I  expected, 
as  I  turned  the  corner,  to  see  her  coming  toward  me. 

But  the  path  was,  save  for  myself,  untenanted.  I  was 
almost  at  its  end,  where  the  pines  and  bushes  were  scat- 

249 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

tering  and  the  field  of  daisies,  now  in  full  bloom,  began, 
when  I  heard  a  slight  sound  at  my  left.  I  looked  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound  and  saw  her.  She  was  stand 
ing  beneath  a  gnarled,  moss-draped  old  pine  by  the  bluff 
edge,  looking  out  over  the  bay. 

I  stopped,  involuntarily.  Then  I  moved  on  again,  as 
noiselessly  as  I  could.  But  at  my  first  step  she  turned 
and  saw  me.  I  raised  my  hat.  She  bowed,  coldly,  so  it 
seemed  to  my  supersensitive  imagination,  and  I  replaced 
the  hat  and  continued  my  walk.  I  thought  I  heard  the 
bushes  near  which  she  stood  rustle  as  if  she  had  moved, 
but  I  did  not  look  back. 

Then,  close  behind  me,  I  heard  her  voice. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  said. 

I  turned.  She  had  followed  me  and  was  standing  in 
the  path,  a  bit  out  of  breath,  as  if  she  had  hurried.  I 
waited  for  her  to  speak,  but  she  did  not. 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  awkwardly. 
Some  one  had  to  speak,  we  could  not  stand  staring  at 
each  other  like  that. 

She  said  "Good  afternoon,"  also.  Then  there  was  an 
other  interval  of  silence. 

"You — you  wished  to  speak  to  me?"  I  stammered. 

"I  did  speak  to  you,"  with  significant  emphasis  on  the 
"did."  "I  thought  you  might,  possibly,  be  interested  to 
know  that  Don  and  I  reached  home  safely  the  other 
day." 

Considering  that  she  had  called  upon  Mother  since, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  my  knowledge  of  her  reaching 
home  safely  might  have  been  taken  for  granted;  but  I 
said: 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  Miss  Colton." 
'  "We  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  way  after  you 
left  us." 

250 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

The  way  being  almost  straight,  and  over  the  main 
traveled  roads,  this,  too,  was  fairly  obvious. 

"I  felt  sure  you  would  have  no  trouble* — after  I  left 
you,"  I  answered,  with  a  significant  emphasis  of  my  own. 

She  did  not  reply  and,  as  I  had  nothing  further  to 
say,  I  waited  for  her  to  continue,  or  to  break  off  the  in 
terview.  She  did  neither,  but  stood,  as  if  irresolute, 
looking  down  and  stirring  with  her  foot  the  leaves  at 
the  edge  of  the  path.  Suddenly  she  looked  up. 

"Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  "you  are  making  it  hard  for 
me  to  say  what  I  intended.  But  I  think  I  should  say  it, 
and  so  I  will.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  as  I  did 
when  I  last  saw  you.  I  had  no  right  to  judge  or  criti 
cize  you,  none  whatever." 

"You  do  not  need  to  apologize,  Miss  Colton.  What 
you  told  me  was  probably  true  enough." 

The  conventional  answer  to  this  would  have  been  a 
half-hearted  denial  of  my  statement.  I  presume  I  ex 
pected  something  of  the  sort.  But  this  girl  was  not  con 
ventional. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  thoughtfully,  "I  think  it  was.  If  I 
had  not  thought  so  I  should  not  have  said  it.  But  that 
makes  no  difference.  You  and  I  are  strangers,  almost, 
and  I  had  no  right  to  speak  as  I  did.  I  am  impulsive,  I 
know  it,  and  I  often  do  and  say  things  on  impulse  which 
I  am  sorry  for  afterward.  I  offended  you." 

"Oh  no,  no,"  I  put  in,  hurriedly.  She  had  offended 
me,  but  this  frank  confession  touched  me  more  than  the 
offense  had  hurt.  She  was  doing  a  hard  thing  and  doing 
it  handsomely. 

"Yes,  I  offended  you,"  she  repeated,  firmly.  "I  have 
considered  the  matter  a  good  deal  since  then,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  were  right  to  feel  offended.  You  had 
been  very  kind  to  me  on  several  occasions  and  I  had 

251 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

been  your" — with  a  half  smile — "your  guest  that  day,, 
I  should  not  have  hurt  your  feelings.  Will  you  accept 
my  apology?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,  since  you  insist,  Miss  Colton." 

"Thank  you." 

She  was  turning  to  go ;  and  I  could  not  let  her  go  thus. 
Although  she  had  apologized  for  speaking  her  thought 
she  had  not  retracted  the  thought  itself.  I  was  seized 
with  a  desire  for  justification  in  her  eyes.  I  wanted  to 
explain;  forgetting  for  the  moment  that  explanations 
were  impossible. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  impulsively. 

"Yes?" 

"May  I — may  I  say  a  word?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish." 

She  turned  again  and  faced  me. 

"Miss  Colton,  I — I — "  I  began,  and  paused. 

"Well?"  she  said,  patiently,  "What  is  it?" 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  blundered  on,  "you  should  not  have 
apologized.  You  were  right.  Your  estimate  of  me  was 
pretty  nearly  correct.  I  realized  that  when  you  gave  it 
and  I  have  been  realizing  it  ever  since.  I  deserved  what 
I  got — perhaps.  But  I  should  not  wish  you  to  think — 
that  is,  I — well,  I  had  reasons,  they  seemed  to  me  reasons, 
for  being  what  I  was — what  I  am.  I  doubt  if  they  were 
altogether  good  reasons ;  I  am  inclined  now  to  think  they 
were  not.  But  I  had  come  to  think  them  good.  You  see, 
I— I- 

I  stopped,  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  I  could  not 
give  those  reasons  to  her  or  any  one  else.  She  was 
looking  at  me  expectantly,  and  with,  so  it  seemed  to  me, 
an  expression  of  real,  almost  eager  interest.  I  faltered, 
tried  to  go  on,  and  then  surrendered,  absolutely,  to  the 
hopelessness  of  the  situation. 

252 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"It  is  no  use,"  I  said,  "I  can't  tell  you  what  those 
reasons  were." 

I  turned  as  I  said  it.  I  did  not  care  to  see  her  expres 
sion  change.  I  knew  what  she  must  be  thinking-  and  I 
had  no  desire  to  read  the  thought  in  her  eyes.  I  stood 
there,  waiting  for  her  to  leave  in  disgust. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  I  repeated,  stubbornly. 

"Very  well."  Her  tone  was  as  coldly  indifferent  as 
I  had  anticipated.  "Was  that  all  you  wished  to  say  to 
me,  Mr.  Paine?" 

"Miss  Colton,  I  should  like  to  explain  if  I  could.  But 
I  cannot." 

"Pray  don't  trouble  yourself.  I  assure  you  I  had  no 
intentions  of  asking  for  your — reasons.  Good  after 
noon." 

I  heard  her  skirts  brush  the  leaves  at  the  border  of  the 
path.  She  was  going;  and  the  contemptuous  slur  at  my 
"reasons"  proved  that  she  did  not  believe  them  existent. 
She  believed  me  to  be  a  liar. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  sharply;  "wait." 

She  kept  on. 

"Wait,"  I  said  again.     "Listen  to  me." 

She  seemed  to  hesitate  and  then  turned  her  head. 

"I  am  listening,"  she  said.     "What  is  it?" 

"You  have  no  right  to  disbelieve  me." 

"I  disbelieve  you?  Why  should  you  think  I  disbe 
lieve  you?  I  am  not  sufficiently  interested  to  believe  or 
disbelieve,  I  assure  you." 

"But  you  do.    You  judge  me " 

"I  judge  you !    You  flatter  yourself,  Mr.  Paine." 

"But  you  do.  You  apologized  just  now  for  judging 
me  without  a  hearing  the  other  day.  You  acknowledged 
that  you  should  not  have  done  it.  You  are  doing  the 
same  thing  now." 

253 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  apologized  for  presuming  to  offer  advice  to  a 
stranger.  I  did  not  apologize  for  the  advice  itself.  I 
think  it  good.  I  do  not  care  to  argue  the  matter  fur 
ther." 

"You  are  not  asked  to  argue.  But  your  sneer  at  my 
reasons  proves  that  you  believe  that  I  have  none  and 
am  merely  trying  to  justify  myself  with  trumped  up  and 
lying  excuses.  You  are  wrong,  and  since  you  presumed 
to  judge  me  then  you  must  listen  to  me  now.  I  have — or 
had — reasons  for  living  as  I  have  done,  for  being  the 
idler  and  good-for-nothing  you  believe  me  to  be.  I 
can't  tell  you  what  they  are;  I  can  tell  no  one.  But  I 
do  ask  you  to  believe  that  I  have  them,  that  they  are 
real,  and  that  my  being  what  you  termed  ambitionless 
and  a  country  loafer  is  not  my  condition  from  choice.  It 
is  my  right  to  insist  upon  your  believing  that.  Do  you 
believe  it?" 

At  last  I  had  made  an  impression.  My  earnestness 
seemed  to  have  shaken  her  contemptuous  indifference. 
She  looked  at  me  steadily,  frowning  a  little,  but  regard 
ing  me  less  as  if  I  were  a  clod  and  more  and  more  as  if 
I  were  the  puzzle  she  had  once  declared  me  to  be.  I  did 
not  shun  her  look  now,  but  met  it  eye  to  eye. 

"Do  you  believe  me  ?"  I  demanded. 

Slowly  her  frown  was  disappearing. 

"Do  you  believe  me?"  I  said,  again.    "You  must." 

"Must?" 

"Yes,  you  must.  I  shall  make  you.  If  not  now,  at 
some  other  time.  You  must  believe  me,  Miss  Colton." 

The  frown  disappeared  altogether  and  she  smiled. 

"If  you  order  me  to  I  suppose  I  must,"  she  said,  with 
a  shrug  of  mock  resignation.  "I  should  have  learned 
by  this  time  that  it  is  useless  to  say  no  when  you  say 
yes,  Mr.  Paine." 

254 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"But  do  you?" 

She  turned  altogether  and  faced  me. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  believe  you,"  she  said,  with  simple 
directness. 

I  stammered  a  "Thank  you"  and  was  silent.  I  dared 
not  trust  myself  to  speak  at  the  moment.  Somehow  the 
sincerity  of  her  words  moved  me  far  more  than  their 
trifling  import  warranted.  She  had  declared  her  belief 
that  I  was  not  a  liar,  that  was  all ;  and  yet  I  stood  there 
fighting  down  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  emotions.  The 
situation  was  decidedly  strained,  but,  as  usual,  she 
saved  it. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  with  the  twinkle  which  I 
had  learned  to  recognize  as  a  forerunner  of  mischief  on 
her  part,  "that  you  are  inclined  to  make  mountains  out  of 
mole-hills,  Mr.  Paine.  Was  there  any  need  to  be  quite 
so  fiercely  tragic?  And,  besides,  I  think  that  even  now 
you  have  not  told  the  whole  truth." 

"The  whole  truth?  Why,  Miss  Colton,  I  have  just 
explained  that " 

"Oh,  not  that  truth!  Your  mysterious  'reasons'  are 
not  my  affair.  And  I  have  told  you  that  I  was  willing  to 
take  those  on  trust.  But  you  have  not  been  quite  truthful 
in  another  particular.  You  intimated  that  you  were  an 
idler.  I  have  been  given  to  understand  that  you  are  far 
from  being  an  idler  just  now." 

I  was  relieved.  "Oh,  I  see !"  I  exclaimed.  "You  mean 
— some  one  has  told  you  of  my  employment  at  the  bank." 

"A  number  of  persons  have  told  me.  Surely  you  did 
not  expect  to  keep  that  a  secret — in  Denboro?" 

"Well,  scarcely,"  I  admitted,  with  a  laugh.  "That 
was  known  almost  before  I  was  sure  of  it  myself.  You 
should  have  seen  Eldredge's  face  when  I  announced  my 
intention.  And  Lute — Mrs.  Rogers'  husband — hasn't 

255 


JHE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

completely  recovered  yet.  The  sight  of  me,  actually  try 
ing  to  earn  a  living,  was  too  much  for  him.  You  see 
what  a  miracle  worker  you  are,  Miss  Colton." 

"Did  you  really  accept  the  position  simply  because  of 
what  I  said  to  you?" 

"Yes.  The  chance  had  been  offered  me  before,  but 
it  was  your  frankness  that  shocked  me  into  taking  it." 

"Not  really?    You  are  joking." 

"No,  I'm  not.    You  are  responsible.    Are  you  sorry  ?" 

Her  answer  was  a  question. 

"A.,     you?"  she  asked. 

"No.  At  first  it  seemed  ridiculous  and  strange,  even 
to  myself;  but  now  I  like  the  work.  It  is  like  old 
times." 

"Old  times?" 

I  was  forgetting  myself  again;  talking  too  much  was 
a  dangerous  train — for  me.  I  laughed,  with  pretended 
carelessness. 

"Why,  yes;  I  was  employed  in  a  bank  at  one  time. 
I  think  I  told  you  that.  Have  you  been  motoring  much 
of  late,  Miss  Colton?' 

"Yes.    Tell  me,  please:  You  really  like  your  work?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Then  I  will  answer  your  question.  I  am  not  a  bit 
sorry.  I  am  glad  I  was  impertinent  and  intrusive,  es 
pecially  now  that  I  have  apologized  and  you  have  ac 
cepted  the  apology.  I  am  very  glad  I  told  you  you  should 
do  something  worth  while." 

"Even  if  it  were  nothing  more  than  to  follow  Thoph 
Newcomb's  example  and  sell  fish." 

"Yes,"  laughingly,  "even  that.  I  was  impertinent, 
wasn't  I !  I  don't  wonder  you  were  offended." 

"I  needed  the  impertinence,  I  guess.  But  frankly,  Miss 
Colton,  I  can't  see  why  you  should  be  glad  because  I 

256 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

have  gone  to  work.  I  can't  see  what  difference  my  work 
ing  or  idling  can  possibly  make  to  you." 

"Oh,  it  doesn't,  of  course — except  on  general  princi 
ples.  I  am  a  dreadful  idler  myself;  but  then,  I  am  a 
woman,  and  idleness  is  a  woman's  right." 

I  thought  of  Dorinda  and  of  the  other  housewives  of 
Denboro  and  how  little  of  that  particular  "right"  they 
enjoyed ;  which  thought  brought  again  and  forcibly  to 
my  mind  the  difference  between  this  girl's  life  and  theirs 
— and  Mother's — and  my  own. 

"A  man,"  continued  Miss  Colton,  sagely,  "should  not 
idle.  He  should  work  and  work  hard — so  that  the  rest 
of  us  may  be  as  good  for  nothing  as  we  please.  That 
is  philosophy,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  good  enough  not  to  say  what  sort  of 
philosophy.  Thank  you.  But  seriously,  Mr.  Paine,  I  am 
fond  of  your  mother — very  fond,  considering  our  short 
acquaintance — and  when  I  saw  her  lying  there,  so  pa 
tient,  and  deprived  of  the  little  luxuries  and  conve 
niences  which  she  needs,  and  which  a  little  more  money 
might  bring  to  her,  it  seemed  to  me  .  .  .  Gracious ! 
what  a  lot  of  nonsense  I  am  talking!  What  is  the  mat 
ter  with  me  this  afternoon?  Do  let's  change  the  sub 
ject.  *  Have  you  sold  your  land  yet,  Mr.  Paine?  Of 
course  you  haven't!  That  is  more  nonsense,  isn't  it." 

I  think  she  had  again  spoken  merely  on  the  impulse  of 
the  moment;  doubtless  there  was  no  deliberate  intention 
on  her  part  to  bring  me  to  a  realization  of  my  position, 
the  position  I  occupied  in  her  thoughts ;  but  if  she  had 
had  such  an  intent  she  could  not  have  done  it  more  ef 
fectively.  She  believed  me  to  have  been  neglecting 
Mother,  and  her  interest  in  my  "doing  something  worth 
while"  was  inspired  merely  because  she  wished  Mother 

257 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

to  be  supplied  with  those  "luxuries  and  conveniences" 
she  had  mentioned.  Well,  my  question  was  answered; 
this  was  the  difference  my  working  or  idling  made  to 
her.  And,  for  a  minute  or  two,  I  had  been  foolish 
enough  to  fancy  her  interested,  as  a  friend,  in  my  suc 
cess  or  failure  in  life.  I  might  have  known  better.  And 
yet,  because  of  the  novelty  of  the  thing,  because  I  had 
so  few  friends,  I  felt  a  pang  of  disappointment. 

But  I  resolved  she  should  not  know  she  had  disap 
pointed  me.  I  might  have  been  a  fool,  but  I  would  keep 
my  foolishness  a  secret. 

"No,  Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  with  a  smile,  "I  haven't 
sold  yet." 

"Father  said  he  saw  you  at  the  bank.  Did  he  say 
anything  about  the  land?" 

"He  said  his  offer  was  still  open,  that  was  all." 

"You  are  resolved  not  to  sell." 

"To  him?  Yes,  I  am  resolved.  I  think  he  knows  it. 
1  tried  to  make  it  plain." 

"You  say  to  him.  Are  you  thinking  of  selling  to  any 
one  else?  To  the  town?" 

"No.  Probably  not  to  any  one.  Certainly  not  to 
your  father  or  the  town." 

She  looked  at  me,  with  an  odd  expression,  and  seemed 
to  hesitate. 

"Mr.  Paine/'  she  said,  slowly,  "would  you  resent  my 
giving  you  another  bit  of — advice?" 

"Not  at  all.     What  is  it  this  time?" 

"Why,  nothing.  I  must  not  give  you  any  advice  at 
all.  I  won't.  Instead  I'll  give  you  one  of  Father's  pet 
proverbs.  It  isn't  an  elegant  one,  but  he  is  very  fond  of 
repeating  it.  'There  are  more  ways  of  killing  a  cat  than 
choking  it  to  death  with  butter.'  There!  you  will  admit 
it  is  not  elegant." 

258 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"But  Miss  Colton!  Killing  a  cat!  What  in  the 
world  ?" 

"You  mustn't  ask  me.  I  shouldn't  have  said  even 
that.  But  remember,  it  is  father's  pet  proverb.  I  must 
go.  Please  give  my  love  to  your  mother  and  tell  her  I 
shall  call  again  soon.  Good-by." 

She  walked  briskly  away  and  did  not  look  back.  I 
went  home.  I  thought  a  great  deal  during  the  evening 
and  until  late  that  night.  When,  at  last,  7  did  go  to 
bed  I  had  not  made  much  progress  in  the  problem  of  the 
cat,  but  I  did  believe  that  there  was  a  rat  in  the  vicinity. 
I  was  beginning  to  scent  one.  If  I  was  not  mistaken 
it  called  itself  the  Bay  Shore  Development  Company. 

I  said  nothing  to  Mother  of  the  new  proposal  to  buy 
our  land,  but  next  morning  at  the  bank  I  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  cashier  of  a  bank  in  Boston,  one  of  our  corre 
spondents,  and  with  which  our  little  institution  was  on 
very  friendly  terms.  I  asked  the  cashier  to  make  some 
guarded  inquiries  concerning  the  Bay  Shore  Company, 
to  find  out,  if  possible,  who  was  behind  it  and  also  to 
inquire  concerning  Barclay  and  Keene,  the  real  estate 
brokers  of  Milk  Street. 

The  reply  to  my  letter  reached  me  on  Friday.  It  was 
satisfactory,  eminently  so.  And  when,  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  Mr.  Keene,  bland  and  smiling  as  ever,  made 
his  appearance  at  the  house,  I  was  ready  for  him.  I 
stood  on  the  step  and  made  no  move  to  invite  him  within. 
"Well,  Mr.  Paine,"  he  said,  cordially,  "are  you  ready 
to  talk  business?" 

"Quite  ready,"  I  answered. 

He  beamed  with  satisfaction. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed.    "Then  what  is  your  figure?" 

"My  figure  is  a  naught,"  I  replied,  with  emphasis. 
"You  may  tell  your  emolover  that  I  do  not  care  to  sell 

259 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  land  to  him,  no  matter  whether  he  calls  himself  James 
Colton  or  the  Bay  Shore  Development  Company.  Oh 
yes;  and,  if  you  like,  you  may  add  that  this  particular 
cat  declines  to  be  choked." 

Mr.  Keene  showed  signs  of  choking,  himself,  and  I 
shut  the  door  and  left  him  outside.  Lute,  who  had  been 
listening  at  the  dining-room  window  and  had  heard  only 
fragments  of  the  brief  interview,  was  in  a  state  of  added 
incoherence. 

"Well,  by  time!"  he  gasped.  "What — what  sort  of 
talk  was  that  ?  Chokin'  a  cat !  A  cat ! !  We  ain't  got  no 
cat." 

"Haven't  we?"  I  observed.  "Why,  no,  so  we  haven't! 
Perhaps  you  had  better  explain  that  to  Mr.  Keene,  Lute. 
It  may  help  him  to  understand  the  situation.  And  add 
that  I  suggest  his  telling  the  person  who  sent  him  here 
that  soft-soap  is  no  improvement  on  butter." 

I  think  Lute  did  tell  him  just  that,  doubtless  with  all 
sorts  of  excuses  for  my  insanity,  for  the  next  day,  Sun 
day,  as  I  walked  along  the  beach,  a  big  body  came  plough 
ing  down  the  sandy  slope  and  joined  me. 

"Hello!"  said  Colton. 

"Good  morning,"  said  I. 

"Kow  are  independence  and  public  spirit  these  days?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you.  How  are  Development  Com 
panies  developing?" 

He  put  back  his  head  and  laughed.  He  did  not  seem 
a  bit  chagrined  or  discomfited.  The  joke  was  on  him, 
but  he  could  enjoy  it,  nevertheless.  In  spite  of  my  an 
tagonism  toward  this  man  I  could  not  help  admiring  cer 
tain  traits  of  his  character.  He  was  big,  in  every  way. 
Little  repulses  or  setbacks  did  not  trouble  him. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "how  did  you  know  about  that  cat?" 

"Saw  his  footprints,"  I  replied.  "They  were  all  over 

260 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

the  scheme.      And  your  friend  Keene  purred  too  loud." 

"I  don't  mean  that.  Keene  was  a  fool ;  that  was  plain 
enough  for  anyone  to  see.  I  had  to  use  him ;  if  Barclay 
hadn't  been  sick  it  might  have  been  different.  But  how 
did  you  come  to  send  me  that  message  about  the  but 
ter?  Man,  that  is  one  of  my  favorite  sayings — the  chok 
ing  the  cat  thing!  How  did  you  know  that?  I  never 
said  it  to  you." 

"Oh,  it  is  an  old  saying.  I  have  heard  it  often;  and 
it  did  seem  to  fit  in  this  case.  I  imagined  you  -sould 
understand  and  appreciate." 

"Um — yes,"  dryly.  "I  appreciated  all  right.  As  to 
understanding — well,  I'll  understand  later  on.  That's 
another  little  conundrum  for  me  to  work  out.  Some 
body's  been  talking,  of  course.  Here !  hold  on !"  as  I  was 
walking  away :  "Don't  go.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

He  characteristically  did  not  ask  whether  or  not  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  him,  but,  as  I  happened  to  be  in  no 
hurry,  I  stopped  and  waited  for  him  to  continue.  He 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  looked  me  over, 
very  much  as  he  might  have  looked  over  a  horse  he  was 
thinking  of  buying. 

"Paine,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "do  you  want  to  go  to 
work  ?" 

"Work?"  I  repeated.    "I  am  at  work  already." 

"You've  got  a  job,  such  as  it  is.  It  might  be  work  for 
the  average  jay,  but  it  isn't  for  you.  I'll  give  you  some 
thing  to  work  at — yes,  and  work  for." 

I  stared  at  him  in  wondering  suspicion. 

"What  is  this;  another  Development  Company?"  I 
demanded. 

"Ha !  ha !  not  this  time.  No,  this  is  straight.  If  you'll 
say  that  you'll  work  for  me  I'll  make  an  opening  for  you 
in  my  New  York  office." 

261 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  trying  to  fathom  the  motive 
behind  this  new  move. 

"I'll  put  you  to  work  in  my  office,"  he  went  on.  "It 
may  not  be  much  to  begin  with,  but  you  can  make  it 
anything  you  like;  that'll  be  up  to  you.  As  to  salary — 
well,  I  don't  know  what  you're  getting  in  that  one-horse 
bank,  but  I'll  double  it,  whatever  it  is.  That  will  be  the 
start,  of  course.  After  that  it  is  up  to  you,  as  I  said." 

"Mr.  Colton  this  may  be  a  good  joke,  but  I  don't  see 
it— yet." 

"I  don't  joke  often  in  business ;  can't  afford  to." 

"You  are  really  serious?    You  mean  what  you  say?" 

"Yes." 

"But  why?    You  don't  know  anything  about  me." 

"I  know  all  that  is  necessary.  And  I  have  found  out 
that  you  are  all  right,  so  far  as  bank  work  goes.  That 
[fellow  Taylor  and  some  others  told  me  that.  But  I 
didn't  need  their  telling.  Why,  man,  it  is  part  of  my 
trade  to  know  men  when  I  see  them.  I  have  to  know 
'em.  I  said  a  while  ago  that  you  didn't  belong  in  this 
forsaken  hole  of  a  town.  God  knows  it  is  forsaken ! 
Even  my  wife  is  beginning  to  admit  that,  and  she  was  the 
keenest  to  come  here.  Some  day  I  shall  get  sick  of  it 
and  sell  out,  I  suppose." 

"Sell  out?" 

"Oh,  not  yet.  Mabel — my  daughter — seems  to  like  it 
here,  for  some  unknown  reason,  and  wants  to  stay.  And 
I  don't  intend  to  sell  until  I've  bought — what  I  set  out 
to  buy.  But  I'm  not  the  subject  we're  talking  about  just 
now.  You  are.  Come !  here's  your  chance  to  be  some 
body.  More  chance  than  I  had,  I'll  tell  you  that.  You 
can  go  to  work  in  my  office  next  week,  if  you  want  to. 
Will  you?" 

I  laughed  at  the  idea.  I  believed  I  had  found  the  mo- 

262 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

tive  I  was  seeking.  "Of  course  not,"  I  said.  "You 
can't  close  the  Lane  by  that  kind  of  bribery,  Mr.  Col- 
ton." 

"Bribery  be  hanged !  Come,  come,  Paine !  Wake  up, 
or  I  shall  think  your  brains  aren't  up  to  standard,  after 
all.  When  I  bribe  I  bribe.  When  I  ask  a  man  to  work 
for  me  there  are  no  strings  tied  to  the  offer.  Forget 
your  picayune  land  for  a  minute.  Time  enough  to  re 
member  that  when  I've  got  it,  which  will  be  some  day 
or  other,  of  course.  I'm  making  you  this  offer  because 
I  want  you.  You're  sharp;  you  saw  through  that  De 
velopment  game.  You're  clever — your  sending  me  that 
'cat'  message  proves  it.  And  your  not  telling  me 
where  the  idea  for  the  message  came  from  proves  that 
you  can  keep  your  mouth  shut.  I  could  use  a  dozen 
fellows  like  you,  if  I  could  get  them.  You  interested 
me  right  at  the  start.  A  chap  with  sand  enough  to  tell 
Jim  Colton  to  go  to  the  devil  is  always  interesting.  I'm 
offering  you  this  chance  because  I  think  it  is  a  good 
chance  for  both  of  us.  Yes,  and  because  I  like  you,  I 
suppose,  in  spite  of  your  pig-headedness.  Will  you 
take  it?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  answered. 

"Why?  Because  you  can't  leave  your  sick  mother? 
She'll  be  all  right.  I  was  talking  with  the  doctor — 
Quimby,  his  name  is,  isn't  it — and  he  happened  to  men 
tion  that  he  was  encouraged  about  her.  Said  she  had 
been  distinctly  better  for  the  last  month." 

I  could  not  believe  it.  Doctor  Quimby  had  said  noth 
ing  of  the  sort  to  me.  It  was  impossible.  Mother 
better! 

"That  doesn't  mean  she  is  going  to  be  well  and  strong 
again,  of  course,"  he  added,  not  unkindly.  "But  I  think 
Quimby  believes  she  may  be  well  enough  to — perhaps-— 

263 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

sit  up  one  of  these  days.  Be  wheeled  about  in  a  chair, 
or  something  of  that  sort  .  .  .  Why!  what  is  the 
matter?  You  looked  as  if  I  had  knocked  you  out. 
Hasn't  the  doctor  said  anything  to  you?" 

"No,"  I  stammered.  I  was  knocked  out.  I  could  not 
believe  it.  Mother,  the  bed-ridden  invalid  of  six  long 
years,  to  be  well  enough  to  sit  up!  to  use  a  wheeled 
chair !  It  could  not  be  true.  It  was  too  good  to  be  true. 

"So,  you  see,  you  could  leave  her  all  right,"  went  on 
Colton.  "If  it  was  necessary  you  could  get  a  nurse 
down  here  to  look  after  her  while  you  were  away.  And 
you  might  get  home  every  fortnight  or  so.  Better  take 
my  offer,  Paine.  Come !"  with  a  grunt  of  impatient 
amusement,  "don't  keep  me  waiting  too  long.  I  am  not 
used  to  coaxing  people  to  work  for  me ;  it  is  usually  the 
other  way  around.  This  offer  of  mine  happens  to  be 
pretty  nearly  a  disinterested  one,  and,"  with  one  of 
his  dry  smiles,  "all  my  offers  are  not  that  kind,  as  you 
ought  to  know.  Will  y  ^u  say  yes  now  ?  Or  do  you  want 
till  to-morrow  to  think  it  over?" 

The  news  concerning  Mother  had  upset  me  greatly, 
but  my  common-sense  was  not  all  gone.  That  there  was 
something  behind  his  offer  I  believed,  but,  even  if  there 
were  not — if  it  was  disinterested  and  made  simply  be 
cause  my  unearthing  of  the  Bay  Shore  "cat"  had  caught 
his  fancy — I  did  not  consider  for  a  moment  accepting  it. 
Not  if  Mother  was  like  other  women,  well  and  strong, 
would  I  have  accepted  it.  In  Denboro  I  was  Roscoe 
Paine,  and  my  life  story  was  my  own  secret.  In  New 
York  hew  long  would  it  be  before  that  secret  and  my 
real  name  were  known,  and  all  the  old  disgrace  and 
scandal  resurrected? 

"What  do  you  say?"  asked  Colton,  again.  "Want  more 
time  to  think  about  it,  do  you?" 

264 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  shook  my  head.  "No,"  I  answered.  "I  have  had 
time  enough.  I  am  obliged  for  the  offer  and  I  appre 
ciate  your  kindness,  but  I  cannot  accept." 

I  expected  him  to  express  impatience  or,  perhaps, 
anger ;  at  least  to  ask  my  reasons  for  declining.  But  his 
only  utterance  was  a  "Humph !"  For  a  moment  he  re 
garded  me  keenly.  Then  he  said : 

"Haven't  got  the  answer  yet,  have  I?  All  right. 
Well,"  briskly,  "when  are  you  and  I  going  on  that  shoot 
ing  trip?" 

"There  is  no  shooting  at  present,"  I  answered,  as  soon 
as  I  could  adjust  my  mind  to  this  new  switch  in  the 
conversation. 

"That  so?    Any  fishing?" 

"I  believe  the  squiteague  are  running  outside.  I  heard 
they  were." 

"What?    Squit— which  ?" 

"Squiteague.     Weakfish  some  people  call  them." 

"They  are  pretty  fair  sport,  aren't  they?" 

"Yes,  fair.    Nothing  like  bluefish,  however." 

"All  right.  What  is  the  matter  with  our  going  squint — 
squint — something  or  othering  one  of  these  days  ?  Will 
you  go?  Or  are  you  as  pig-headed  about  that  as  you 
are  about  other  things?" 

I  laughed.  "Not  quite,"  I  said.  "I  should  be  glad 
of  your  company,  Mr.  Colton." 

"Next  Saturday  suit  you?" 

"Yes.     After  bank  hours." 

"All  right.  I'll  look  after  the  boat.  You  provide  the 
bait  and  tackle.  That's  fair,  isn't  it?  Right.  Be  on 
hand  at  my  dock  at  one  o'clock.  Morning." 

He  walked  off.  Neither  of  us  had  thought  of  the 
tide — he,  probably,  not  realizing  that  high  water  was 
an  important  factor,  and  I  being  too  much  agitated  by 

265 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

what  he  had  said  about  Mother,  and  the  suddenness  with 
which  the  fishing  trip  was  planned,  to  think  calmly  of 
anything. 

That  week  was  a  strange  one  to  me,  and  the  first  of 
many  strange  ones.  My  manner  of  life  was  changing, 
although  I  did  not  realize  it  and  although  the  change 
came  through  no  effort  of  my  own.  Our  house,  which 
had  been  so  long  almost  a  hermitage,  if  a  home  con 
taining  four  persons  might  be  called  that,  was  gradually 
becoming  a  social  center.  Matilda  Dean  had  called  once 
a  week  regularly  for  some  time  and  this  particular  week 
Captain  Jed  came  with  her.  Captain  Elisha  Warren 
and  his  cousin  and  housekeeper,  Miss  Abbie  Baker,  drove 
down  for  a  half-hour's  stay.  George  Taylor  and  Nellie 
spent  an  evening  with  us.  I  feared  the  unaccustomed 
rush  of  company  might  have  a  bad  effect  upon  Mother, 
but  she  seemed  actually  the  better  for  it.  She  professed 
to  believe  that  Denboro  was  awakening  to  the  fact  of 
my  merits  as  a  man  and  a  citizen.  "They  are  finding 
you  out  at  last,  Boy,"  she  said.  I  laughed  at  her.  I 
knew  better.  It  was  because  of  my  position  in  the  bank 
that  these  people  came.  I  was  making  good  there,  ap 
parently,  and  the  surprise  at  this  caused  Captain  War 
ren  and  the  rest  to  take  a  new,  and  no  doubt  transitory 
interest  in  me. 

And  I  thought  I  knew  Captain  Jed's  reason  for  com 
ing.  An  interview  between  us  gave  me  the  inkling. 
Matilda  was  in  Mother's  room  and  Dean  and  I  were  to 
gether  in  the  dining-room. 

"Ros,"  said  the  captain,  suddenly,  "you  ain't  backin' 
water,  are  you?" 

"Backing  water?    What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"In  this  Lane  business.  You  ain't  cal'latin'  to  sell 
out  to  Colton,  after  all?" 

266 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Well,  hardly.    Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Nothin',  maybe.  But  they  tell  me  you're  kind  of 
thick  with  the  R'yal  family  lately.  Beriah  Holt  says  he 
see  you  and  the  Colton  girl  come  out  of  the  woods  back 
of  his  place  one  afternoon  a  spell  ago.  She  was  on 
horseback  and  you  was  walkin',  but  Beriah  says  you  and 
she  was  mighty  friendly." 

I  might  have  expected  this.  In  Denboro  one  does  few 
things  unnoticed. 

"She  had  lost  her  way  in  the  woods  and  I  helped  her 
to  find  the  road  home,"  I  said,  "that  was  all." 

"Hum !  You  helped  her  to  find  the  road  the  night  of 
the  strawberry  festival,  too,  didn't  you?" 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  find  that  out?" 

"Oh,  it  just  sort  of  drifted  around.  I've  got  pretty 
big  ears — maybe  you've  noticed  'em — and  they  gen'rally 
catch  some  of  what's  blowin'  past.  There  was  a  coach 
man  mixed  up  in  that  night's  work  and  he  talked  some, 
I  shouldn't  wonder;  most  of  his  kind  do." 

"Well,  what  of  it  ?"  I  asked,  sharply.  "I  helped  her  as 
1  would  your  daughter  if  she  had  been  caught  alone  in 
a  storm  like  that.  I  should  have  been  ashamed  not  to." 

"Sartin!  Needn't  get  mad  about  it.  What's  this 
about  your  takin'  his  Majesty  off  fishin'  next  Saturday?" 

All  of  my  personal  affairs  seemed  to  be  common  prop 
erty.  I  was  losing  my  temper  in  spite  of  my  recent  good 
resolutions. 

"Look  here,  Captain  Dean,"  I  said,  "I  have  a  right  to 
take  any  one  fishing,  if  I  choose.  Mr.  Colton  asked  me  to 
do  it  and  I  saw  no  reason  for  saying  no." 

"Funny  he  should  ask  you.  He  ain't  asked  anybody 
else  in  town." 

"I  don't  know  that  and  I  don't  care.  I  shall  do  as  I 
please.  I  have  no  grievance  against  the  Coltons.  I 

267 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

shall  not  sell  them  my  land,  but  I  reserve  the  right  to 
meet  them — yes,  and  to  associate  with  them — if  I  choose. 
You  and  your  friends  may  as  well  understand  that,  Cap 
tain." 

"There!  there!  don't  get  huffy.  I  ain't  got  the  right 
to  say  what  your  rights  are,  Ros.  And  I  don't  think  for 
a  minute  you'd  back  water  on  the  Lane  business  a-pur- 
pose.  But  I  do  think  you're  takin'  chances.  I  tell  you, 
honest,  I'm  scart  of  old  Colton,  in  a  way,  and  I  ain't 
scart  of  many  folks.  He's  a  fighter  and  he's  smart.  He 
and  I  have  had  some  talks " 

"You  have?"  I  interrupted. 

"Yup.  Lively  squabbles  they  was,  too.  Each  of  us 
expressin'  our  opinion  of  t'other  and  not  holdin'  back 
anything  to  speak  of.  I  don't  know  how  he  felt  when 
we  quit,  but  I  know  I  respected  him — for  his  out  and 
open  cussedness  and  grit,  if  nothin'  else.  And  I  think 
he  felt  the  same  way  about  me.  But  he's  smart — consarn 
him,  he  is !  And  he  never  backs  water.  That's  why  I 
think  you're  takin'  chances  in  bein'  too  friendly  with 
him.  He's  layin'  low  and,  if  you  get  off  your  guard  just 
once  he'll  grab." 

I  hesitated ;  then  I  made  up  my  mind. 

"Captain  Dean,"  I  said,  "his  smartness  hasn't  caught 
me  yet.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something,  but  first  you 
must  promise  not  to  tell  anyone  else." 

He  promised  and  I  told  him  of  Mr.  Keene  and  th " 
Bay  Shore  Company.  He  listened,  internvriing  with 
chuckles  and  exclamations.  Wberi  1  iiad'  finished  he 
seized  my  hand  and  wrung  it. 

"By  the  eiverlastm' !"  he  exclaimed,  "that  was  great! 
I  s?y  again,  you're  all  right,  Ros  Paine.  Even  /  s  wal 
ked  that  Development  Company,  hook,  line,  and  sinker. 
But  you  saw  through  it!" 

268 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  tell  you  this,"  I  said,  "so  that  you  will  understand 
I  have  no  intention  of  backing  water." 

"I  know  you  ain't.  Knew  it  afore  and  now  I  know  it 
better.  But  I  can't  understand  what  the  Colton  game 
is — and  there  is  a  game,  sure.  That  daughter  of  his, 
now — she  may  be  in  it  or  she  may  not.  She's  pretty  and 
I  will  give  in  that  she's  folksy  and  sociable  with  us  na 
tives;  it's  surprising  considerin'  her  bringin'  up.  Nellie 
and  Matildy  like  her,  Nellie  especial.  They're  real 
chummy,  as  you  might  say.  Talk  and  talk,  just  as  easy 
and  common  as  you  and  I  this  minute.  I've  heard  'em 
two  or  three  times  at  my  house  when  they  thought  I 
wasn't  listenin'  and  twice  out  of  the  three  they  was 
talkin'  about  you." 

"About  me?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  I  don't  wonder  you're  surprised.  I  was  my 
self.  Asked  Nellie  about  it  and  she  just  laughed.  Said 
you  was  the  principal  object  of  interest  in  town  just 
now,  which  is  more  or  less  true.  But  it  makes  me  sus 
picious,  all  the  same.  Why  should  a  girl  like  that  Colton 
one  talk  about  a  feller  like  you?  You're  as  fur  apart, 
fur's  anything  in  common  is  concerned,  as  molasses  is 
from  vinegar.  Ain't  that  so?" 

It  was  so,  of  course,  but  he  need  not  have  been  so 
brutally  frank  in  telling  me.  However,  I  nodded  and  ad 
mitted  that  he  was  right. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "A  blind  horse  could  see  there  was 
no  sensible,  open  and  above-board  reason  for  her  bein' 
interested  in  you.  So  there's  another  reason,  the  way 
I  look  at  it,  and  that's  why  I'd  be  mighty  careful,  mighty 
careful,  Ros.  Her  pa's  got  a  new  trick  up  his  sleeve  and 
she's  helpin'  him  play  it,  that's  my  notion.  So  be  care 
ful,  won't  you." 

"I'll  be  careful,"  said  I.  I  knew,  as  well  as  I  knew 

269 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

my  real  name — which  he  did  not — that  Mabel  Colton 
was  not  helping  her  father  play  any  tricks.  I  had  seen 
enough  of  her  to  be  certain  she  was  not  tricky.  And, 
besides,  if  she  were  in  sympathy  with  her  parent,  why 
had  she  given  me  the  hint  which  put  me  on  the  trail  of 
the  Development  Company?  Why  had  she  given  me 
the  hint  at  all  ?  That  was  the  real  riddle,  and  I  had  not, 
as  yet,  hit  upon  a  plausible  answer.  Those  I  had  hit  upon 
were  ridiculous  and  impossible,  and  I  put  them  from  my 
mind.  But  she  was  not  tricky,  that  I  knew. 

Captain  Jed  changed  the  subject  and  we  talked  of  Nel 
lie's  wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  in  a  month.  The 
captain  was  full  of  various  emotions,  regret  at  losing 
his  daughter  and  joy  because  of  her  getting  such  a  good 
husband.  His  last  words  were  these: 

"Ros,"  he  said,  "be  careful,  for  my  sake  full  as  much 
as  yours.  This  Lane  business  and  Nellie's  gettin'  mar 
ried  have  sort  of  possessed  me,  same  as  the  evil  spirits 
did  the  swine,  in  scriptur'.  I  lay  awake  nights  fussin' 
for  fear  the  marriage  won't  turn  out  happy  or  for  fear 
you'll  sell  the  Lane  after  all.  And  one's  just  as  likely  to 
happen  as  t'other — which  means  they're  both  impossible, 
I  cal'late.  But  look  out  for  that  Colton  girl,  whatever 
else  you  do.  She's  a  good  deal  better  lookin'  than  her 
dad,  but  she's  just  as  dangerous.  You  mark  my  words, 
son,  the  feller  that  plays  with  fire  takes  chances.  So 
don't  be  too  sociable  with  any  of  the  tribe." 

And  the  very  next  afternoon  the  dangerous  person 
herself  called  and  she  and  I  spent  an  hour  in  Mother's 
room,  where  the  three  of  us  chatted  like  old  friends. 
She  had  the  rare  power  of  making  one  forget  self  and 
personal  worries  and  I  could  readily  understand  why 
Mother  had  been  so  completely  won  by  her.  She  was 
bright  and  cheery  and  sympathetic.  Here  there  was  no 

270 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

trace  of  the  pride  of  class  and  the  arrogance  which  had 
caused  me  to  hate  her  so  heartily  at  first.  It  seemed  al 
most  as  if  she  had  set  herself  the  task  of  making  me 
like  her  in  spite  of  my  prejudices.  My  reason  told  me 
that  this  could  not  be;  it  was  merely  her  fancy  for 
Mother  which  caused  her  to  notice  me  at  all ;  she  had  as 
much  as  said  so  more  than  once.  But  I  did  like  her ;  I 
acknowledged  it  in  my  thoughts;  and,  after  she  had 
gone,  the  room,  with  its  drawn  shades,  seemed  doubly 
dark  and  gloomy.  Mother  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes 
and  I,  too,  said  nothing.  Then: 

"She  is  a  wonderful  girl,  isn't  she,  Roscoe,"  said 
Mother. 

She  was  altogether  too  wonderful,  that  was  the  trouble. 
A  girl  like  her  had  no  place  in  our  lives.  I  went  out  for 
a  walk  and  a  smoke  by  the  bluff  edge ;  and,  almost  before 
I  knew  it,  I  found  myself  standing  at  the  border  of  the 
grove,  looking  at  the  great  house  and  trying  to  guess 
which  was  her  room  and  if  she  was  there  and  of  what 
or  whom  she  might  be  thinking  just  then.  "Mark  my 
words,  son,"  Captain  Jed  had  declared,  "the  feller  that 
plays  with  fire  takes  chances." 

I  turned  on  my  heel  and  set  out  for  home.  I  would 
take  no  chances.  I  must  not  play  with  fire,  even  though 
the  flames  had,  for  the  moment,  dazzled  me.  I  had  called 
myself  a  fool  many  times  in  the  past  few  years,  but  I 
would  not  be  so  great  a  fool  as  that. 


271 


CHAPTER  XV 

SO  I  resolved,  more  resolutely  than  ever,  to  keep 
out  of  her  way,  to  see  as  little  of  her  as  pos 
sible!  and,  as  had  happened  before  to   similar 
resolutions  of  mine  with  which  she  was  concerned,  this 
one    was   rendered   non-effective,   through   no   fault  of 
my  own,  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  made.    For  on  Satur 
day  afternoon,  as  I  approached  the  Colton  wharf,  laden 
with  bait  and  rods  for  the  fishing  excursion  in  the  Col- 
ton  boat,  I  saw  her  standing  there  beside  her  father, 
waiting  for  me. 

"We've  got  a  passenger,  Paine,"  said  "Big  Jim." 
"You've  met  her  before,  I  believe — on  the  water  and  in 
it.  No  objections  to  my  daughter's  going  along,  have 
you?" 

What  could  I  say ;  except  to  announce  delight  at  the 
addition  to  our  party  ?  Perhaps  I  did  not  say  it  as  heart 
ily  as  I  might,  for,  Miss  Colton,  who  was  regarding  me 
with  a  mischievous  smile,  observed  demurely: 

"I  am  sure  he  must  be  delighted,  Father.  Mr.  Paine 
knows  I  am  very  fond  of  fishing ;  don't  you,  Mr.  Paine  ?" 

"Yes;  oh,  yes,  of  course,"  I  stammered. 

"He  does,  eh !"  Her  father  seemed  surprised.  "How 
did  he  find  that  out?" 

I  thought  the  question  was  addressed  to  her,  so  I 
did  not  answer.  She  seemed  to  think  otherwise,  for  she 
said : 

"Did  you  hear,  Mr.  Paine?  Father  asks  how  you 
knew  I  was  fond  of  fishing." 

272 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Why — er — you  told  me  so,  Miss  Colton,"  I  replied. 
If  she  had  not  related  her  Seabury  Pond  experience  to 
her  parents  I  did  not  propose  to  be  trapped  into  doing 
so.  She  laughed  merrily. 

"Did  I?"  she  asked.    "Yes,  I  believe  I  did." 

Mr.  Colton  looked  at  us,  each  in  turn. 

"Humph!"  he  observed;  "I  don't  seem  to  be  aboard 
this  train.  What's  the  joke?" 

She  saved  me  the  problem  of  inventing  a  satisfactory 
answer. 

"Oh,  it's  a  little  joke  of  Mr.  Paine's  and  my  own," 
she  explained.  "I'll  tell  you  about  it  by  and  by,  Father. 
It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  now.  He  saved  my  life 
once  more,  that's  all." 

"Oh !  that's  all !  Humph !  And  you  did  not  think  a 
trifle  like  that  worth  mentioning  to  me,  I  suppose.  Would 
you  mind  telling  me  what  it  was  he  saved  you  from  this 
time  ?" 

"From  starvation.  I  was  a  famished  wayfarer  and  he 
took  me  in.  There,  Daddy,  don't  puzzle  your  poor  brain 
any  longer.  It  is  all  right  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
when  we  get  home.  Now  I  am  sure  we  should  be  start 
ing  if  we  are  to  have  any  fishing  at  all.  Shall  we  cast 
off,  Mr. — that  is,  Captain  Paine?" 

That  fishing  trip  was  not  a  huge  success  if  judged 
solely  by  the  size  of  the  catch.  The  weakfish  were  not 
hungry  or  we  did  not  tempt  them  with  bait  to  their 
taste  that  day.  We  got  a  half  dozen,  of  which  I  caught 
three,  Miss  Colton  two,  and  her  father  but  one.  His, 
however,  was  a  big  one,  much  the  biggest  of  the  six,  and 
he  had  a  glorious  time  landing  it.  He  fished  as  he  ap 
peared  to  do  everything  else,  with  intense  earnestness 
and  determination.  He  evidently  considered  the  struggle 
a  sort  of  personal  disagreement  between  the  fish  and 

273 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

himself  and,  as  usual,  intended  to  have  his  way.  He  suc 
ceeded  after  a  while,  and  announced  that  he  had  not  en 
joyed  anything  as  much  since  arriving  in  Denboro. 

His  daughter  also  seemed  to  be  enjoying  herself.  She 
was  quite  as  good  a  fisher  as  her  father,  and,  when  the 
sport  was  over,  and  we  reeled  in  our  lines  preparatory 
to  starting  for  home,  rallied  him  not  a  little  at  having 
been  the  least  successful  of  the  party.  He  took  her  teas 
ing  good-naturedly. 

"You  think  it  is  quite  a  feat  to  get  the  better  of  your 
old  dad,  don't  you,  my  lady,"  he  observed. 

"Of  course  I  do.    It  is,  isn't  it?" 

He  chuckled.  "Well,  maybe  you're  right,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "You  do  it  oftener  than  any  one  else,  that  is 
certain.  Paine,  you  might  take  lessons  from  her,  if  you 
are  still  hoping  to  keep  up  your  end  in  the  little  fight  you 
and  I  have  on  hand." 

She  turned  to  me  and  smiled.  Her  graceful  head  was 
silhouetted  against  the  red  glow  of  the  sunset  and  a 
loosened  strand  of  her  hair  waved  in  the  light  breeze. 

"I  think  Mr.  Paine  does  not  need  lessons  from  any 
one,"  she  said.  "He  seems  to  be  holding  his  own  very 
well." 

"But  he's  frightened,  all  the  same.  Come,  Paine,  own 
up  now.  You  know  you  are  frightened,  don't  you?" 

"Not  very,"  I  answered,  truthfully. 

"So?  Then  you  aren't  as  sensible  as  you  ought  to  be. 
A  wise  man  knows  when  to  be  scared.  Let's  make  a  lit 
tle  bet  on  it.  I'll  bet  you  two  to  one  that  I'll  own  that 
land  of  yours  inside  of  six  months." 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  never  bet  on  certainties,"  I  de 
clared.  "I  should  be  ashamed  to  collect  my  winnings." 

This  seemed  to  amuse  them  both,  for  they  both 
laughed. 

274 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Father,"  said  Miss  Colton,  "I  am  afraid  you  don't 
learn  by  experience.  You  have  lost  one  bet  already,  you 
know." 

"That's  so.  And  I  haven't  paid  it  yet,  either.  I  must, 
or  you'll  be  telling  every  one  that  I  am  a  poor  sport. 
Paine,  this  young  lady  bet  me  a  new  pipe  against  a  box 
of  gloves  that  you  wouldn't " 

"Father,"  broke  in  the  young  lady,  herself,  "stop." 

"Oh,  all  right,  all  right.  Just  as  you  say.  But  I  tell 
you  this,  Paine;  she  hasn't  any  scruples  against  betting 
on  certainties." 

She  was  leaning  against  the  cockpit  rail,  looking  for 
ward,  and  I  could  not  see  her  face.  She  spoke  without 
turning. 

"You  thought  yours  was  the  certainty,"  she  said.  "You 
warned  me  that  I  was  sure  to  lose." 

"Did  I?  Well,  you  may,  even  yet.  On  the  whole,  I 
think  I'll  wait  a  while  before  buying  those  gloves.  Re 
member,  there  was  no  time  limit.  When  you  said 
that " 

"Father,"  more  firmly,  "please  be  quiet.  You  have 
said  quite  enough.  Mr.  Paine  is  not  likely  to  be  in 
terested  in  the  family  gambling." 

I  was  interested  in  this  particular  "gamble."  The 
wager  had,  obviously,  something  to  do  with  me.  I  sup 
pose  I  should  have  felt  flattered  at  being  made  the  sub 
ject  of  a  bet  in  such  select  circles,  but  I  did  not.  I  had 
not  been  informed  as  to  the  details  of  that  bet. 

There  was  nothing  more  said  about  it  at  the  time  and 
my  passengers  talked  of  other  things  as  we  sailed  home 
before  the  fast  dying  breeze.  It  died  almost  altogether 
as  we  passed  the  lighthouse  at  Crow  Point  and  entered 
the  bay  and,  for  an  hour,  we  barely  held  our  own  against 
the  tide.  The  sun  set,  twilight  came,  and  the  stars  ap- 

275 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

peared  one  by  one.  Colton,  lying  at  full  length  on  the 
deck  forward  of  the  cockpit,  smoked  in  lazy  enjoyment. 
His  only  remark  in  ten  minutes  was  to  the  effect  that 
his  wife  had  probably  drowned  us  all,  in  her  mind,  a 
dozen  times  over  by  now. 

His  daughter,  sitting  by  the  rail  and  looking  out  over 
the  smooth,  darkly  glimmering  water,  bade  him  be 
quiet. 

"You  must  not  talk,"  she  said.  "This  is  the  most 
wonderful  night  I  ever  experienced.  How  still  it  is! 
You  can  hear  every  sound.  Hark!" 

From  the  dusk,  to  port,  came  the  clear  strokes  of  a 
church  bell  striking  eight. 

"That  is  the  clock  at  the  Methodist  Church,  isn't  it?" 
asked  Miss  Colton. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"The  church  where  the  strawberry  festival  was  held  ?" 

"Yes." 

Colton  struck  a  match  to  relight  his  cigar. 

"Shouldn't  think  that  would  be  a  pleasant  reminder 
to  either  of  you,"  he  observed.  "I  am  mighty  sure  it 
wasn't  to  me." 

Miss  Colton  did  not  answer,  nor  did  I. 

The  breeze  sprang  up  again  soon  after,  from  a  differ 
ent  quarter  this  time,  but  the  tide  had  ebbed  so  far  that 
I  was  obliged  to  make  the  detour  around  the  end  of  the 
flat  upon  which  Victor  had  grounded  the  dingy.  "Big 
Jim"  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

"Hello !"  he  exclaimed,  "here's  another  joyful  spot. 
Mabel,  it  was  along  here  somewhere  that  Paine  ac 
quired  the  habit  of  carrying  you  about  like  a  bundle.  It 
must  have  been  a  picturesque  performance.  Wish  I 
might  have  seen  it." 

He  laughed  heartily. 

276 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Father,"  said  the  young  lady,  coldly,  "don't  be  silly — 
please." 

He  chuckled  and  lay  down  again,  and  no  one  spoke 
during  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  It  was  after  nine  when  I 
brought  the  boat  up  to  the  wharf,  made  her  fast,  and 
lowered  and  furled  the  sail. 

"Better  come  up  to  the  house  with  us  and  have  a  bit  to 
eat,  Paine,"  urged  Colton.  "You  must  be  hungry;  I 
know  I  am." 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  said  I.  "Supper  will  be  waiting 
for  me  at  home." 

"Glad  to  have  you,  if  you'll  come.  Tell  him  to  come, 
Mabel." 

Miss  Colton's  invitation  was  not  over-cordial. 

"I  presume  Mr.  Paine  knows  what  is  best  for  him 
to  do,"  she  said.  "Of  course  we  shall  be  glad  to  have 
him,  if  he  will  come." 

I  declined,  and,  after  thanking  me  for  the  sail  and  the 
pleasure  of  the  fishing  trip,  they  left  me,  Colton  carrying 
his  big  squiteague  by  the  gills,  its  tail  slapping  his  leg 
as  he  climbed  the  bluff.  A  moment  later  I  followed. 

The  night  was,  as  my  feminine  passenger  had  said, 
wonderfully  quiet,  and  sounds  carried  a  long  way.  As  I 
reached  the  juncture  of  the  path  and  the  Lane  I  heard  a 
voice  which  I  recognized  as  Mrs.  Colton's.  She  was 
evidently  standing  on  the  veranda  of  the  big  house  and 
I  heard  every  word  distinctly. 

"You  are  so  unthinking,  James !  You  and  Mabel  have 
no  regard  for  my  feelings  at  all.  I  have  been  worried 
almost  to  death.  Do  you  realize  the  time?  I  warned 
you  against  trusting  yourself  to  the  care  of  that  common 
fellow— 

The  "fellow"  heard  no  more.  He  did  not  wish  to. 
He  was  tramping  heavily  through  the  dew-soaked  under- 

277 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

growth.  He  needed  now  no  counsel  against  "playing 
with  fire."  The  cutting  contempt  of  Mrs.  James  W. 
Colton's  remark  was  fire-extinguisher  sufficient  for  that 
night. 

Miss  Colton  and  I  met  again  at  the  door  of  the  bank 
a  day  or  two  later,  just  at  closing  time.  Sam  Wheeler 
had  already  gone  and  I  left  George  at  his  desk,  poring 
over  papers  and  busily  figuring.  He  was  working  over 
time  much  of  late  and  explained  his  industry  by  the  fact 
of  his  approaching  marriage  and  his  desire  to  make 
things  easy  for  me  to  handle  while  he  was  on  his  brief 
wedding  trip.  I  was  not  much  alarmed  by  the  prospect. 
He  was  to  be  gone  but  a  week  and  I  had  become  suffi 
ciently  familiar  with  the  routine  to  feel  confident  in  as 
suming  the  responsibility.  Small,  my  predecessor,  had 
a  brother  who  had  formerly  been  employed  in  the  bank 
and  was  now  out  of  work,  and  he  was  coming  in  to  help 
during  the  cashier's  absence.  I  was  not  worried  by  the 
prospect  of  being  left  in  charge,  but  I  was  worried  about 
George.  He,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  had  grown  pale  and 
thin.  Also  he  was  nervously  irritable  and  not  at  all  like 
his  usual  good-natured  self.  I  tried  to  joke  him  into 
better  humor,  but  he  did  not  respond  to  my  jokes.  He 
seemed,  too,  to  realize  that  his  odd  behavior  was  notice 
able,  for  he  said: 

"Don't  mind  my  crankiness,  Ros.  I've  got  so  much  on 
my  mind  that  I'd  be  mean  to  my  old  grandmother,  if  I 
had  one,  I  guess  likely.  Don't  let  my  meanness  trouble 
you ;  it  isn't  worth  trouble." 

I  laughed.  "George,"  I  said,  "if  I  ever  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing  as  getting  married  myself,  you  would  scare 
me  out  of  it.  You  ought  to  be  a  happy  man,  and  act 
like  one ;  instead  you  act  as  if  you  were  about  to  be 
jailed." 

278 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

He  caught  his  breath  with  a  sort  of  gasp.  Then,  after 
a  pause  and  without  looking  up,  he  asked  slowly : 

"Jailed?  What  in  the  world  made  you  say  that, 
Ros?" 

"I  said  it  because  you  act  as  if  you  were  bound  for 
state's  prison  instead  of  the  matrimonial  altar.  George, 
what  is  troubling  you  ?" 

"Troubling  me?  Why — why,  nothing  special,  of 
course.  Catching  up  with  my  work  here  makes  me  nerv 
ous  and — and  kind  of  absent-minded,  I  guess.  Act  ab 
sent-minded,  don't  I?" 

He  did,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  but  I  did  not  be 
lieve  it  was  his  work  which  caused  the  absent-mindedness. 

''If  there  is  any  trouble,  George,"  I  said,  earnestly; 
"if  you're  in  any  difficulty,  personally,  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  help  you,  if  I  can.  I  mean  that." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  he  hesitated.  Then  he  shook 
his  head. 

"I  know  you  mean  it,  Ros,"  he  answered.  "I'm  much 
obliged  to  you,  too.  But  there's  nothing  to  help  me 
with.  I'm  just  nervous  and  tired,  that's  all." 

I  did  not  believe  it,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  said  all  I 
could,  considering  his  attitude.  I  bade  him  good  night 
and  left  the  building.  As  I  came  down  the  steps  Miss 
Colton  was  just  crossing  the  road  from  Eldredge's  store, 
a  good  sized  brown  paper  parcel  in  her  hand. 

Ever  since  the  day  when  Captain  Jed  had  given  me 
his  warning  I  had  been  strengthening  my  resolution.  The 
remark  of  Mrs.  Colton's  which  I  had  overheard  on  the 
night  of  the  fishing  trip,  although  it  revealed  to  me,  as  I 
believed,  my  real  standing  in  the  minds  of  my  neigh 
bors,  whatever  they  might  pretend  when  in  my  company, 
was,  after  all,  only  a  minor  detail.  I  knew  that  I  must 
break  off  my  acquaintance  with  this  girl.  By  all  that  was 

279 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

sensible  and  sane  it  must  be  broken  off.  I  must  not,  for 
my  own  sake,  continue  to  meet  her,  to  see  her 
and  speak  with  her.  No;  I  would  avoid  her 
if  I  could,  but,  at  all  events,  I  would  break  off  the 
association,  even  if  I  were  obliged  to  offend 
her,  deliberately  offend  her,  to  accomplish  my  pur 
pose.  I  swore  it;  and  then  I  swore  at  myself  for  being 
so  weak-minded  as  to  need  to  swear.  That  I  should  be 
afraid  of  a  girl,  a  mere  girl,  ten  years  younger  than  I, 
who,  as  the  casual  pastime  of  an  idle  summer,  had  chosen 
to  pretend  an  interest  in  me !  I  was  not  afraid  of  her,  of 
course;  I  was  afraid  of  myself.  Not  that  I  was  in 
danger  of  falling  in  love  with  her — that  idea  was  too 
ridiculous  to  be  even  funny.  But  she  was  becoming  a 
disturbing  influence  in  my  life — that  was  it,  a  disturb 
ing  influence — and  I  must  not  permit  myself  to  be  dis 
turbed. 

So  now,  as  I  saw  the  disturbing  influence  crossing  the 
road  in  my  direction,  my  first  thought  was  to  retreat 
to  the  bank.  But  it  was  too  late  to  retreat ;  she  had  seen 
me,  and  she  bowed  pleasantly  as  she  approached. 

"Good  afternoon,"  she  said. 

I  bowed  and  admitted  that  the  afternoon  was  a  good 
one,  conscious  as  I  did  so  that  Sim  Eldredge  had  fol 
lowed  her  to  the  door  of  his  store  and  was  regarding  us 
with  marked  interest. 

She  exhibited  the  package.  "I  am  acting  as  my  own 
errand  boy,  you  see,"  she  said,  smiling.  "It  was  such  a 
beautiful  day  that  I  refused  to  send  any  one  for  this, 
or  even  to  ride.  I  did  not  realize  that  a  few  yards  of 
muslin  would  make  such  a  bundle.  Now  I  must  carry 
it,  I  suppose,  in  spite  of  appearances." 

I  believed  I  saw  an  opportunity  to  escape. 

"I  am  going  directly  home,"  I  said.  "Let  me  carry 

280 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

it  down  for  you.  I  will  send  it  over  to  your  house  by 
Lute." 

"Oh,  no  thank  you.  I  could  not  think  of  troubling 
Mr.  Rogers.  But  do  you  really  want  to  carry  it?  You 
may,  for  a  while.  We  will  take  turns.  I  am  going  di 
rectly  home,  too ;  and  we  will  walk  down  together.  Un 
less,  of  course,  you  are  in  a  hurry." 

I  think  it  was  the  expression  of  my  face  which  led  her 
to  add  the  last  sentence.  If  I  had  had  time  to  think,  to 
summon  my  resolution,  it  is  possible — yes,  it  is  possible 
that  I  should  have  declared  myself  to  be  in  a  hurry  and 
gone  on  alone.  But  she  had  caught  me  unawares  and 
resolution  was  v/anting.  I  announced  that  I  was  in  no 
hurry  at  all,  and  took  the  parcel. 

We  walked  on  together,  she  chatting  easily,  and  I 
pretending  to  listen,  although  aware  that  our  progress 
was  watched  by  eager  eyes  and  commented  upon  and 
exclaimed  over  by  many  tongues.  The  drawn  shades 
of  parlor  windows  moved  significantly  as  we  passed  and, 
as  we  turned  into  the  Lower  Road,  I  glanced  over  my 
shoulder  and  saw  Sim  Eldredge  and  his  clerk  and  Thoph 
Newcomb  and  Alvin  Baker  on  the  store  platform,  staring 
after  us.  As  if  this  audience  was  not  sufficient,  and  to 
make  the  affair  complete,  we  met  Captain  Dean  strutting 
importantly  on  his  way  to  the  post-office.  He  bowed  and 
said  "Afternoon,"  but  the  look  he  gave  me  was  signifi 
cant.  There  was  surprise  in  it,  and  distrust.  I  knew 
I  should  have  to  do  more  explaining  at  our  next  meeting. 
And  I  knew,  too,  or  could  guess,  what  was  being  said 
that  very  moment  at  the  store,  and  of  the  surmising  and 
theorizing  and  strengthening  of  suspicions  which  would 
go  on  at  a  dozen  supper  tables  that  evening. 

My  companion,  however,  appeared  to  be  quite  uncon 
scious  of  all  this.  That  I  might  be  suspected  and  mis- 

281 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

judged  because  she  had  chanced  to  prefer  my  company 
to  a  walk  home  alone  did  not,  evidently,  occur  to  her. 
There  was  no  reason  why  it  should,  of  course ;  she  was 
not  in  the  position  where  the  opinion  or  suspicions  of 
Denboro's  inhabitants  need  concern  her  in  the  least.  But 
I,  angry  at  Captain  Jed  for  his  look  and  with  Sim  Eld- 
redge  and  his  companions  for  their  impudent  stares  and 
the  trouble  I  knew  their  gossipy  tongues  would  make 
for  me,  was  gloomy  and  resentful. 

She  did  most  of  the  talking  and  I  walked  beside  her, 
putting  in  a  word  occasionally  and  doing  my  best  to 
appear  as  unconcerned  as  she  really  was.  We  crossed 
Elnathan  Mullet's  bridge  and  continued  down  the  Shore 
Lane.  Suddenly  I  was  aware  that  she  had  not  spoken 
for  some  minutes. 

"Eh?  Yes,  Miss  Colton;  what  is  it?"  I  stammered. 
Then  I  realized  that  we  were  standing  beside  the  granite 
posts  marking  the  entrance  to  the  Colton  grounds.  I  had 
been  so  wrapped  in  my  unpleasant  thoughts  and  fore 
bodings  that  we  had  reached  our  journey's  end  without 
my  noticing  it. 

"Well !"  I  exclaimed,  and  then  added  the  brilliant  ob 
servation,  "We  are  here,  aren't  we." 

"We  are,"  she  said,  dryly.    "Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"Why,  I  had  not  realized.  The  walk  has  seemed  so 
short." 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  it  must.  I  think  you  have  spoken  ex 
actly  six  words  in  the  last  five  minutes.  Will  you 
come  in?" 

"Oh  no;  no,  thank  you." 

"Why  not  ?    Father  is  in  and  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"I — I  must  be  getting  on  toward  home.  Supper  will 
be  ready." 

She  bit  her  lip.  "Far  be  it  from  me  to  criticize  your 
282 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

domestic  arrangements,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  "but  it 
does  seem  to  me  that  your  housekeeper  serves  meals  at 
odd  hours.  It  is  only  a  few  minutes  after  four,  by  my 
watch." 

She  had  me  at  a  disadvantage.  I  imagined  I  must  have 
appeared  embarrassed.  I  know  I  felt  that  way. 

"I  did  not  realize  ...  I  thought  it  much  later." 
I  stammered. 

"Then  you  will  come  in?  Father  will  like  to  discuss 
the  fishing  with  you,  I  know.  He  has  talked  of  little 
but  his  wonderful  weakfish  ever  since  he  caught  it." 

"No,  thank  you,  Miss  Colton.  Really,  I  must  not 
stop." 

She  took  the  parcel  from  my  hands. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  indifferently ;  "as  you  please.  I 
thank  you  for  your  kindness  in  walking  down  with  me. 
Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Paine." 

She  turned  away.  Here  was  the  opportunity  I  had 
been  waiting  for,  the  opportunity  of  breaking  off  our 
acquaintance.  If  I  knew  anything  I  knew  the  tone  of 
that  "Good  afternoon"  meant  that,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  she  was  offended,  just  as  I  had  been  certain  I 
wished  her  to  be.  Here  was  the  opportunity,  Heaven 
sent,  to  rid  my  life  of  its  disturbing  influence.  Just  what 
I  had  prayed  for  had  come  to  pass. 

And  so,  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  my  prayers  and  the 
worth  of  my  high  resolve,  I — called  her  back. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said. 

She,  apparently,  did  not  hear  me,  so  I  called  again. 

"Miss  Colton." 

"Yes?" 

"I  seem  somehow  or  other  to  have  offended  you." 

And  even  as  I  said  it  I  realized  the  completeness  of 
the  back-down,  realized  it  and  blushed.  I  was  ashamed 

283 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

of  my  weakness.    Yet  when  she  asked  me  to  repeat  my 
words  I  did  so. 

"You  spoke  to  me?"  she  said,  coldly. 

"I — I  said  I  had  not  meant  to  offend  you." 

"Why  should  you  imagine  that  I  am  offended,  pray? 
You  seem  to  think  other  people  must  necessarily  regard 
you  as  seriously  a,s  you  do  yourself.  I  am  not  offended." 

"But  you  are." 

"Very  well ;  then  I  am.  We  won't  argue  the  mat 
ter;  it  is  scarcely  worth  argument,  is  it?" 

This  observation  called  for  no  answer  in  particular, 
at  least  I  could  not  think  of  one.  While  I  was  groping 
for  a  word  she  spoke  again. 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said.  "I 
am  sure  your — supper,  was  it? — must  be  waiting." 

"Miss  Colton,  you — you  seem  to  resent  my  not  ac 
cepting  your  invitation  to  visit  your  father.  I  assure 
you  I — I  should  be  very  glad  to  call  upon  him." 

"Thank  you.  I  will  tell  him  so.  He  will  be  grateful, 
doubtless.  Your  condescension  is  overwhelming,  Mr. 
Paine." 

"Miss  Colton,  everything  I  say  seems  to  be  wrong  this 
afternoon.  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done.  Twice  you 
have  spoken  of  my  condescension." 

Her  foot  was  beginning  to  pat  the  grass.  I  recognized 
the  battle  signal,  but  I  kept  on. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  condescension," 
I  said. 

"Don't  you,  indeed?  You  are  very  dense  all  at  once, 
Mr.  Paine." 

"Possibly.  But  I  don't  understand." 

For  an  instant  she  hesitated.  Then  she  turned  on  me 
with  a  gust  of  fierce  impatience  which  took  my  breath 
away.  Her  eyes  flashed. 

284 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"You  do,"  she  declared.  "You  do  understand,  I  am 
not  blind.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  not  see  that  you 
wished  to  avoid  me  when  I  met  you  at  the  bank  just  now? 
That  my  company  was  neither  welcome  nor  desired? 
That  you  accepted  my  suggestion  of  walking  down  to 
gether  merely  because  you  could  think  of  no  excuse  for 
declining?" 

This  was  a  staggerer.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  its 
truth. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  faltered,  "I  can't  understand  what 
you  mean.  I " 

"You  do  understand.  And  please,"  with  a  scornful 
laugh,  "oh,  please  understand  that  I  am  not  troubled  be 
cause  of  that.  Your  charming  and  cultivated  society  is 
not  indispensable  to  my  happiness,  Mr.  Paine,  strange 
as  that  may  appear  to  you.  Really,"  with  cutting  con 
tempt,  "it  is  not." 

"That  I  quite  understand,  Miss  Colton,"  I  said, 
"but " 

"But  you  are  like  every  one  else  in  this  horrid,  nar 
row,  bigoted  place.  Don't  you  suppose  that  I  see  it 
everywhere  I  go !  Every  one  here  hates  us — every  one. 
We  are  intruders ;  we  are  not  wanted  here,  and  you  all 
take  pains  to  make  us  feel  as  uncomfortable  as  you  can. 
Oh,  you  are  all  snobs — all  of  you." 

I  actually  gasped. 

"Snobs!"  I  repeated.    "We— snobs?" 

"Yes.  That  is  exactly  what  you  are.  When  Father 
came  here  he  meant  to  be  a  citizen,  a  good  citizen,  of  the 
town.  He  had  intended  to  do  all  sorts  of  things  to  help 
the  village  and  the  people  in  it.  He  and  I  discussed 
ever  so  many  plans  for  doing  good  here.  And  we  wanted 
to  be  friendly  with  every  one.  But  how  have  you  treated 
us !  No  one  comes  to  see  us.  We  are  avoided  as  if  we 

285 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

had  the  small-pox.  The  majority  of  people  scarcely  speak 
to  us  on  the  street.  I  am  so  lonely  and " 

She  stopped.  I  had  never  seen  her  so  agitated.  As 
for  me,  astonishment  is  much  too  mild  a  term  to  use  in 
describing  my  feelings.  That  these  people,  these  mil 
lionaires  and  aristocrats  should  feel  that  they  had  been 
avoided  and  slighted,  that  we  Denboroites  were  the  snobs, 
that  they  should  be  lonely  because  no  one,  or  al 
most  no  one,  came  to  call  upon  them — this  was  too  much 
for  my  bewildered  brain  to  grasp  all  at  once. 

The  young  lady  went  on. 

"And  you!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  as  bad  as  the 
rest.  Father  has  called  upon  you  several  times.  I  have 
called  on  your  mother.  Father  and  I  have  tried  to  be 
friendly  and  neighborly.  Not  that  we  are  lacking  in 
friends.  We,"  haughtily,  "are  not  obliged  to  beg  for 
friendship.  But  we  felt  it  our  duty  to " 

I  interrupted.  There  is  a  limit  to  forbearance  and  I 
considered  that  limit  reached. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  declared,  "you  are  talking  nonsense. 
Considering  the  manner  in  which  your  father  treated  me 
when  we  first  met,  I " 

"How  did  you  treat  him?  How  did  you  treat  Mr. 
Carver  and  me  when  you  first  met  us  in  the  auto?  You 
insulted  us.  It  was  plain  enough  then  that  you  hated 
us." 

"I — why,  Miss  Colton,  I  did  not  know  who  you  were." 

"Indeed!  Would  it  have  made  any  difference  if  you 
had  known?  I  doubt  it.  No,  you  are  like  the  rest  of 
the  people  here.  Because  we  have  come  from  the  city 
you  have  chosen  to  be  as  envious  and  petty  and  disagree 
able  as  you  can.  Even  Nellie  Dean,  whom  I  know  better 
than  any  one  here,  has  never  returned  my  call.  There 
is  a  concerted  plan  to  make  us  feel  we  are  neither  wel- 

286 


THE   RISE  OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

come  nor  wanted.  Very  well,"  disdainfully,  "we  know  it. 
I,  for  one,  shall  not  force  my  presence  upon  any  one  of 
you  again.  And  it  is  probable  that  I  shall  manage  to 
exist  even  without  the  delights  of  Denboro  society. 
Good-by,  Mr.  Paine." 

"But,  Miss  Colton " 

"Good-by." 

"Miss  Colton,  listen  to  me.  You  are  wrong,  all  wrong, 
I  tell  you.  There  is  no  plan  or  plot  to  make  you  feel  un 
comfortable.  We  are  plain  village  people  here,  and  you 
are  wealthy  and  have  been  used  to  associating  with  those 
of  your  class.  Every  one  in  Denboro  knew  that  when 
you  came,  and  they  have  been  shy  of  intruding  where 
they  might  not  be  welcome.  Then  there  was  that  mat 
ter  of  the  Lane  here." 

"Oh,  that  precious  Lane !    I  wish  I  had  never  seen  it." 

"I  have  wished  that  a  number  of  times  in  the  past  few 
months.  But  it  is  here  and  the  question  overshadows 
everything  else  in  the  village  just  now.  It  does  not  seem 
of  much  importance  to  you,  perhaps ;  perhaps  it  is  not  so 
very  important  to  me;  but " 

Again  she  interrupted  me. 

"I  think  it  is  important  enough  to  make  you  forget — • 
ordinary  courtesy,"  she  declared.  "Yes,  courtesy.  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that!  You  know  what  I  mean.  As  I 
told  you  before,  I  am  not  blind.  Do  credit  me  with 
some  intelligence.  All  the  way  during  this  cheerful  walk 
of  ours  you  scarcely  spoke  a  word.  Did  you  suppose  I 
did  not  know  what  was  troubling  you  ?  I  saw  how  that 
Captain  Dean  looked  at  you.  I  saw  those  people  staring 
from  the  post-office  door.  I  knew  what  you  were  afraid 
of  their  saying:  that  you  are  altogether  too  companion 
able  with  Father  and  me ;  that  you  intend  selling  the  land 
to  us,  after  all.  That  is  what  you  thought  they  would 

287 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

say  and  you  were  afraid — afraid  of  their  gossip.  Oh,  it 
is  humiliating!  And,  for  a  time,  I  really  thought  you 
were  different  from  the  rest  and  above  such  things." 

I  began  to  feel  as  if  I  were  once  more  a  small  boy  re 
ceiving  a  lecture  from  the  governess. 

"I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  them,  Miss  Colton,"  I  pro 
tested. 

"You  are.  Why?  Your  conscience  is  clear,  isn't  it? 
You  don't  intend  selling  out  to  my  father?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Then  why  should  you  care  what  people  like  that  may 
think  ?  Oh,  you  weary  me !  I  admired  you  for  your  in 
dependence.  There  are  few  persons  with  the  courage 
to  face  my  father  as  you  have  done  and  I  admired  you 
for  it.  I  would  not  have  had  you  sell  us  the  land  for 
anything." 

"You  would  not?"  I  gasped. 

"Certainly  not !  I  have  been  on  your  side  all  the  time. 
If  you  had  sold  I  should  have  thought  you,  like  all  the 
rest,  holding  back  merely  for  a  higher  price.  I  respected 
you  for  the  fight  you  were  making.  You  must  have 
known  it.  If  I  had  not  why  do  you  suppose  I  gave  you 
that  hint  about  the  Development  Company?" 

"Goodness  knows!"  I  exclaimed,  devoutly. 

"And  I  was  sure  you  could  not  be  bribed  by  an  offer 
of  a  position  in  Father's  office.  It  was  not  really  a 
bribe — Father  has,  for  some  unexplainable  reason,  taken 
a  fancy  to  you — but  I  knew  you  would  believe  it  to  be 
bribery.  That  is  why  I  was  so  positive  in  telling  him 
that  you  would  not  accept.  And  now  you — oh,  when  I 
think  of  how  I  have  lowered  myself !  How  I  have  stooped 
to  ...  But  there!  I  am  sure  that  supper  of  yours 
must  be  waiting.  Pray  condescend  to  convey  my  regrets 
to  the  faithful — what  is  her  name?  Odd  that  I  should 

288 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

forget  a  name  like  that.  Oh,  yes !  Dorinda ! —  Pray 
convey  my  regrets  to  the  faithful  Dorinda  for  being  un 
wittingly  the  cause  of  the  delay,  and  assure  her  that  the 
offense  will  not  be  repeated.  Good-by,  Mr.  Paine." 

She  walked  off,  between  the  granite  posts  and  along 
the  curved  drive.  This  time  I  made  no  attempt  to  call 
her  back.  The  storm  had  burst  so  unexpectedly  and 
had  developed  into  such  a  hurricane  that  I  had  had  time 
to  do  little  more  than  bend  my  head  before  it.  But  I  had 
had  time  enough  to  grow  angry.  I  would  not  have  called 
her  back  then  for  the  world.  She  had  insulted  me,  not 
once  only,  but  again  and  again.  I  stood  and  watched  her 
go  on  her  way,  and  then  I  turned  and  went  on  my  own. 

The  parting  had  come.  The  acquaintance  was  broken 
off;  not  precisely  as  I  had  intended  it  to  be  broken,  but 
broken,  nevertheless,  and  ended  for  good  and  all.  I  was 
glad  of  it.  There  would  be  no  more  fishing  excursions, 
no  more  gifts  of  flowers  and  books,  no  more  charity  calls. 
The  "common  fellow"  was  free  from  the  disturbing  in 
fluence  and  he  was  glad  of  it — heartily  glad  of  it. 

Yet  his  gladness  was  not  as  apparent  to  others  as  it 
should,  by  all  that  was  consistent,  have  been.  Lute,  evi 
dently,  observed  no  traces  of  transcendent  happiness, 
when  I  encountered  him  in  the  back  yard,  beside  the 
woodpile,  sharpening  the  kindling  hatchet  with  a  whet 
stone,  a  process  peculiarly  satisfying  to  his  temperament 
because  it  took  such  a  long  time  to  achieve  a  noticeable 
result. 

"Hello,  Ros!"  he  hailed.     "Why!  what  ails  you?" 

"Ails  me?"  I  repeated,  crossly.  "Nothing  ails  me,  of 
course." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  You  look  as  if  you'd  lost 
your  last  friend." 

"I  haven't  lost  any  friends.    Far  from  it." 
289 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Nobody's  dead,  then?" 

"No.  Though  I  could  find  some  who  are  half  dead 
without  trying  very  hard." 

More  perfectly  good  sarcasm  wasted.  Lute  inquired 
eagerly  if  I  meant  old  Mrs.  Lobelia  Glover.  "I  heard 
yesterday  she  was  pretty  feeble,"  he  added.  "  'Tain't  to 
be  expected  she'll  last  a  long  spell,  at  her  age.  Doctor 
Quimby  says  she  had  a  spine  in  her  back  for  twenty 
years." 

I  made  no  comment  upon  poor  Mrs.  Glover's  surpris 
ing  affliction.  I  merely  grunted  and  went  into  the  house. 
Dorinda  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"What's  the  trouble  ?"  she  asked. 

"Trouble!  There  isn't  any  trouble.  You  and  Lute 
seem  to  be  looking  for  trouble." 

"Don't  have  to  look  far  to  find  it,  in  this  world.  Any 
thing  wrong  at  the  bank?" 

"No." 

"Um-hm.  Settin'  so  long  on  the  fence  make  you  un 
easy?  I  told  you  the  pickets  would  wear  through  if  you 
roosted  on  'em  too  long." 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter,  I  tell  you.  How  is 
Mother?" 

"She  ain't  any  wuss.  If  'twan't  an  impossibility  I'd 
say  she  was  better  the  last  month  than  I'd  seen  her  since 
she  was  took.  Nellie  Dean  called  on  her  this  afternoon." 

"Humph!  I  should  think  a  next  week's  bride  would 
be  too  busy  to  call  on  any  one  except  possibly  the  dress 
maker." 

"Um-hm.  Well,  Nellie  looks  as  if  she'd  been  callin' 
on  the  dressmaker  pretty  often.  Anyhow  she  looked 
worried  and  Olindy  Gaboon's  dressmakin'  gabble  is 
enough  to  worry  anybody.  She  left  a  note  for  you." 

"Who?    Olinda?" 

290 


Um-hm.     Settin'  so  long  on  the  fence  make  you  uneasy  ? 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Land  sakes !  no !  What  would  Olindy  be  doin'  down 
here?  There  ain't  any  brides  to  dress  in  this  house,  or 
bridegrooms  either  unless  you're  cal'latin'  to  be  one,  or 
Lute  turns  Mormon.  That  last  notion  ain't  such  a  bad 
one,"  with  a  dry  smile.  "Another  wife  or  two  to  help 
me  take  care  of  him  would  come  in  handy." 

"Who  did  leave  the  note  for  me,  then?" 

"Nellie,  of  course.  She  wanted  me  to  be  sure  you  got 
it.  Somethin'  about  that  wonderful  weddin',  I  s'pose.  I 
left  it  upstairs  on  your  bureau." 

I  found  the  note  and  put  it  in  my  pocket  to  read  later 
on.  I  did  not  feel  like  reading  it  then.  I  did  not  feel 
like  doing  anything  or  seeing  any  one;  yet  least  of  all 
did  I  feel  like  being  alone.  For  if  I  was  alone  I  should 
think,  and  I  did  not  want  to  think.  I  prowled  about  my 
room  for  a  time  and  then  went  down  and  spent  a  short 
time  with  Mother.  Her  first  question  was  concerning 
my  day  at  the  bank,  and  her  second  if  I  had  seen  any  of 
the  Coltons  recently.  "I  rather  hoped  Miss  Mabel  would 
come  to  see  me  to-day,"  she  added.  "I  look  forward  to 
her  visits  so.  I  think  she's  a  real  friend  of  ours,  Roscoe. 
I  know  you  don't,  dear,  or  you  try  to  believe  you  do  not ; 
but  she  is — I  am  convinced  of  it.  I  wonder  if  she  will 
come  to-morrow." 

I  could  have  put  a  stop  to  her  wondering  on  that  sub 
ject,  but  I  was  in  no  mood  to  do  it  then.  I  went  into 
the  dining-room.  Dorinda  warned  me  not  to  go  far 
from  the  house  because  supper  would  be  ready  in  a  few 
minutes.  The  word  "supper"  reminded  me  of  my  un 
fortunate  choice  of  an  excuse  and  the  sarcastic  reference 
to  our  odd  domestic  arrangements ;  which  reminded  me, 
in  its  turn,  of  other  sarcasms  which  had  followed  it.  My 
"charming  and  cultivated  society"  was  not  necessary  to 
her  happiness  .  .  .  When  she  thought  of  how  she 

291 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

had  lowered  herself  .  .  .  Other  people  did  not  neces 
sarily  regard  me  as  seriously  as  I  did  myself  .  .  . 
And  so  on  .  .  .  until  Dorinda  called  me  in  to  sit  at 
the  table,  and  pretend  to  eat  while  she  and  Lute  com 
mented  on  my  lack  of  appetite  and  my  absent-minded 
ness. 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  I  had  gone  up  to  my  room 
to  escape  from  their  solicitude  and  pointed  questioning, 
when  I  happened  to  think  of  Nellie's  note.  I  had  not 
been  curious  concerning  its  contents,  for,  as  I  had  agreed 
to  act  as  best  man  at  the  wedding,  I  assumed,  as  Do 
rinda  had  done,  that  she  had  written  on  that,  to  her,  all- 
important  topic.  I  took  the  note  from  my  pocket  and 
tore  open  the  envelope. 

Nellie  had  not  written  about  the  wedding.  Her  letter 
was  a  long  one,  evidently  written  in  great  agitation  and 
with  words  blotted  and  underscored.  Its  subject  was 
the  man  she  loved,  George  Taylor.  She  was  so  anxious 
about  him.  Did  I  remember,  that  night  when  my  mother 
was  ill,  how  she  had  spoken  of  him  to  me  and  asked  if 
I  had  noticed  how  troubled  and  worried  he  seemed  of 
late? 

"And,  Roscoe,"  she  wrote,  "I  have  noticed  it  more  and 
more  since  then.  He  is  in  trouble.  There  is  something 
on  his  mind,  something  that  he  will  not  tell  me  and  that 
I  can  see  is  worrying  him  dreadfully.  He  is  not  like 
himself  at  all.  I  know  something  is  wrong,  and  I  can 
not  find  out  what  it  is.  I  want  to  help  him  so  much. 
Oh,  please,  Roscoe,  don't  think  this  is  just  a  foolish  girl's 
imagination,  and  does  not  amount  to  anything.  It  does. 
I  know  it  does.  You  are  his  best  friend.  Can't  you  find 
out  what  is  troubling  him  and  help  him,  for  my  sake? 
I  have  meant  to  speak  to  you  about  this  ever  so  many 
times,  but  I  seldom  see  you  alone  and  I  could  not  speak 

292 


YIIE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

while  h*  wa^  with  me.  So  I  decided  to  write  this  letter. 
If  you  will  try,  just  try  to  find  out  what  ails  him 
and  help  him  J  shall  never,  never  forget  your  kindness. 
Perhaps  he  docs  not  want  to  marry  me.  Perhaps  he  does 
not  care  for  m»  as  much  as  he  thought  he  did  and  will 
not  tell  me  because  he  does  not  want  me  to  feel  bad.  If 
that  is  it  tell  him  »)ot  to  mind  my  feelings  at  all.  I  want 
him  to  be  happy.  }f  it  would  make  him  happier  to  have 
me  give  him  up  I  will  do  it,  even  though  I  shall  pray  to 
die  right  away.  Oh^  can't  you  help  him  and  me,  Roscoe  ? 
Please,  please  try.  A  girl  ought  to  be  perfectly  happy 
who  is  going  to  be  married.  And  I  am  so  miserable.  I 
can't  tell  Mother  ana  Father  because  they  would  not  be 
lieve  me.  They  wou*d  think  I  just  imagined  it  all.  But 
you  won't  think  that,  wvill  you?  You  will  see  him  and 
try  to  help  him,  for  my  sake." 

And  so  on,  eight  ciusely  written  pages,  ending  with 
another  plea  to  me  to  s^e  "poor  George"  and  help  him, 
and  begging  me  to  "bur»i  this  letter,  because  I  should  be 
so  ashamed  to  have  any  one  else  see  it." 

It  was  a  pitiful  letter  «,nd,  even  in  the  frame  of  mind  I 
was  then  in,  disgusted  with  humanity  and  hating  the 
entire  feminine  sex,  I  rould  not  help  feeling  sorry  for 
Nellie  Dean.  Of  course  I  was  surprised  at  receiving 
such  a  letter  and  I  believed,  just  as  she  begged  me  not 
to  believe,  that  the  cause  of  her  distress  and  anxiety  was 
more  imaginary  than  real.  But  that  something  was 
troubling  George  Tay!or  I  had  felt  certain  for  a  good 
while.  The  idea  that  he  did  not  love  Nellie  I  knew  was 
preposterous.  That  was  not  it.  There  was  something 
else,  but  what  I  could  not  imagine.  I  wanted  to  help  the 
girl  if  I  could,  but  how  could  I  ask  George  to  tell  me  his 
secrets  ?  I,  with  a  secret  of  my  own. 

After  pondering  for  some  time  I  decided  to  walk  up 

293 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

to  George's  boarding  place  and  talk  with  him.  Nothing 
would  come  of  the  interview,  probably,  but  I  might  as 
well  do  that  as  anything  else.  I  must  do  something, 
something  besides  sit  in  that  room  and  see  mocking  faces 
in  every  corner,  faces  with  dark  eyes  and  scornful  lips 
which  told  me  that  my  charming  and  cultivated  society 
was  not  necessary  to  their  happiness. 

Taylor  rented  the  upper  floor  of  a  house  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  bank.  His  housekeeper  answered  my 
ring  and  informed  me  that  her  employer  had  not  yet 
come  home. 

"He  did  not  even  come  home  for  supper,"  she  said. 
"Stayed  over  to  Nellie's  probably.  You'll  most  likely 
find  him  there." 

But  I  was  pretty  certain  he  was  not  at  the  Deans',  for 
as  I  passed  their  house,  I  noticed  the  windows  were  dark, 
indicating  that  the  family,  like  most  of  respectable  Den- 
boro,  had  already  retired.  I  walked  on  to  the  Corners. 
Eldredge's  store  was  closed,  but  the  billiard  room  was 
radiant  and  noisy.  I  could  hear  Tim  Hallet's  voice  urg 
ing  some  one  to  take  a  new  cue,  "  'cause  that  one  ain't 
pocketed  many  balls  yet." 

I  looked  across  at  the  bank.  The  front  portion  of  it 
was  black  enough,  but  the  window  of  the  directors'  room 
was  alight.  I  had  located  the  object  of  my  search;  the 
cashier  was  there,  working  overtime,  as  he  did  so  often 
nowadays. 

I  had  my  key  in  my  pocket  and  I  unlocked  the  big 
door  and  entered  quietly.  The  door  of  the  directors' 
room  was  open  a  little  way  and  I  tiptoed  over  and  peeped 
in  through  the  crack.  Taylor  was  seated  in  a  chair  beside 
the  big  table,  his  elbows  upon  the  table  and  his  head  in 
his  hands.  As  I  stood  there,  watching  him,  he  took 
his  hands  away  and  I  saw  his  face.  Upon  it  was  an  ex~ 

294 


THE   RISK   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

pression  of  abject  misery  and  utter  despair.  I  opened 
the  door  and  entered. 

He  heard  the  sound  of  the  opening  door  and  leaped  to 
his  feet.  His  chair  fell  backward  on  the  floor  with  a 
clatter,  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried,  wildly.    "Who's  that?" 

He  was  deathly  pale  and  trembling  violently.  His 
appearance  startled  and  alarmed  me. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  said,  hastily.  "It  is  I— Paine.  I  saw 
the  light  and  knew  you  must  be  here.  What  ails  you? 
What  is  the  matter?" 

For  a  moment  he  stood  there  staring.  Then  he  turned 
and  picked  up  the  fallen  chair. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Ros,  is  it?"  he  faltered.  "I— I— Lord, 
how  you  scared  me!  I — I " 

"George !  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  For  heaven's 
sake !  stand  up,  man !"  He  was  swaying  and  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  faint.  "George !  George  Taylor !  Are 
you  ill?  I  am  going  for  the  doctor." 

"No,  no !  Stay  where  you  are.  I  ain't  sick.  I'll  be  all 
right  in  a  minute.  You — you  scared  me,  creeping  in  that 
way.  Sit  down,  sit  down." 

He  steadied  himself  with  one  hand  on  the  table  and 
with  the  other  reached  to  shut  a  drawer  which  had  been 
open  beside  him.  The  drawer  was  almost  full  of  papers, 
and,  lying  upon  those  papers,  was  a  revolver. 


295 


CHAPTER  XVI 

EFORE  he  could  close  the  drawer  completely  I 
caught  his  arm  and  held  it. 

"George,"  I  cried,  "George,  what  is  the  mat 
ter  ?    Tell  me ;  you  must  tell  me." 

He  tried  to  pull  his  arm  free.  Finding  that  I  would 
not  let  him  do  this  he  gave  up  the  attempt  and,  with  a 
poor  attempt  at  a  laugh,  answered,  "Matter?  Why, 
nothing  is  the  matter.  I  am  tired  and  nervous,  same  as 
I've  told  you  I've  been  for  the  last  two  or  three  months, 
and  you  scared  me,  tiptoeing  in  like  a  sneak  thief,  this 
time  of  night." 

"Time  of  night !  It  is  but  a  little  after  nine.  What  is 
the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  I  tell  you.  Let  go  of  my  arm, 
Ros.  What  do  you  mean  by  holding  on  to  me  like  this  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  George  ?    What  does  that  mean  ?" 

I  pointed  to  the  drawer.  He  looked  and,  with  a  sud 
den  effort,  jerked  his  arm  free  and  closed  the  drawer. 

"That  ?"  with  a  forced  laugh.  "Oh,  that's  nothing.  It 
was  late  and  I  was  alone  here,  so " 

"I  know  better.  George,  you're  frightening  us  all. 
Don't  you  suppose  we  can  see  that  something  is  wrong 
with  you  ?  I  have  seen  it  ever  since  I  came  here  to  work. 
You  are  worrying  your  friends.  You  worry  me.  Give 
us  a  chance  to  help  you.  Give  me  a  chance.  You  owe 
me  that.  Tell  me  your  trouble  and  I'll  pull  you  out  of 
it ;  see  if  I  don't." 

296 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

My  confidence  was,  of  course,  only  pretence,  but  my 
earnestness  had  some  effect.  He  looked  at  me  wistfully, 
and  shook  his  head. 

"Nobody  can  pull  me  out,"  he  said.  "You're  a  good 
fellow  to  want  to  help,  but  you  can't.  There  ain't  any 
trouble.  I'm  just  nervous " 

"I  know  better.  You're  lying,  George.  Yes,  you  are ; 
you're  lying." 

"Humph!  You're  pretty  plain  spoken,  Ros  Paine. 
There  ain't  many  people  I'd  take  that  from." 

"You'll  take  it  from  me,  because  you  can't  help  it  and 
because  you  know  it  is  true.  Come,  George ;  come.  You 
have  been  a  friend  to  me ;  the  only  real  friend  I  have  had 
in  years.  I  have  been  looking  for  a  chance  to  get  even 
for  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Maybe  here  is  the 
chance.  Let  me  help  you.  I  will." 

He  was  wavering ;  I  could  see  it.  But  again  he  shook 
his  head. 

"Nobody  can  help  me,"  he  said. 

"George,  for  my  sake — well,  then,  if  not  for  my  sake 
or  your  own,  then  for  Nellie's,  give  me  a  chance.  You 
aren't  treating  her  right,  George.  You  should  think 
of  her.  You " 

"Stop!  Damn  you,  Ros  Paine!  what  right  have  you 
to " 

"The  right  of  a  friend,  her  friend  and  yours.  You're 
frightening  the  poor  girl  to  death.  She  is  beginning  to 
be  afraid  you  don't  care  for  her." 

"I  ?    I  don't  care  for  her?    I  don't— Oh,  my  God !" 

To  my  utter  amazement  he  began  to  laugh.  And  then, 
all  at  once,  his  laughter  ceased,  he  swayed,  choked,  and, 
suddenly  collapsing  in  the  chair,  dropped  his  head  upon 
his  arms  on  the  table  and  sobbed,  sobs  that  shook  him 
from  head  to  heel. 

297 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

For  one  strong,  healthy,  normal  man  to  see  another 
cry  is  a  disconcerting  and  uncomfortable  experience. 
Masculine  tears  do  not  flow  easily  and  poor  George,  on 
the  verge  of  hysterics,  was  a  pitiful  and  distressing  spec 
tacle.  I  was  almost  as  completely  disorganized  as  he.  I 
felt  ashamed  for  him  and  ashamed  of  myself  for  having 
seen  him  in  such  a  condition.  I  wanted  desperately  to 
help  him  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  so  beyond  pat 
ting  him  on  the  back  and  begging  him  repeatedly  to  brace 
up  and  not  behave  like  that,  I  did  nothing.  At  last  his 
sobs  ceased  and  he  was  silent.  I  had  risen  from  my  chair 
and  now  I  stood  there  with  a  hand  on  his  shoulder ;  the 
ticking  of  the  ancient  eight-sided  clock  on  the  wall 
sounded  loud  in  the  room. 

Suddenly  he  sat  up  and  threw  off  my  hand. 

"Well,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "I'm  a  fine  specimen  of  a 
man,  ain't  I.  Ain't  you  proud  of  me?" 

"I  am  mighty  sorry  for  you,"  I  answered.  "And  I 
mean  to  help  you." 

"You  can't." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  I  do  know,  Ros,"  he  turned  and  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eye.  "I  am  going  to  give  you  some  good 
advice.  Take  it,  for  your  own  sake.  Clear  out  of  here 
and  leave  me.  Don't  have  anything  more  to  do  with  me. 
Clear  out." 

I  did  not  move. 

"Are  you  going  to  do  as  I  tell  you?"  he  demanded. 
"Mind,  I'm  telling  you  this  for  your  own  good.  Will 
you  clear  out  and  leave  me?" 

I  smiled.    "Of  course  not,"  I  answered. 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  You  can't  afford  to  be  my  friend. 
Clear  out  and  leave  me,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"I  hear.    Now,  George,  what  is  it?" 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

His  fingers  tapped  the  table.  I  could  see  he  was 
making  up  his  mind. 

"You  want  to  know?"  he  said.  "You  won't  be  satis 
fied  until  you  do?" 

"I  have  made  that  fairly  plain,  I  hope.  At  least  I've 
tried  to." 

His  fist  clenched  and  he  struck  the  table. 

"Then,  by  the  Almighty,  I'll  tell  you!"  he  cried, 
fiercely.  "It'll  be  all  over  the  county  in  a  week.  You 
might  as  we'll  know  it  now.  I'm  a  crook.  I'm  a  thief. 
I've  stolen  money  from  this  bank  and  I  can't  pay  it  back 
because  I  haven't  got  it  and  can't  get  it.  I'm  a  crook,  I 
tell  you,  and  in  a  week  or  so  it'll  be  the  county  jail  for 
mine.  Unless — unless,"  with  a  significant  glance  at  the 
drawer,  "something  else  happens  to  me  in  the  meantime. 
There;  now  you  know.  Are  you  satisfied?  Are  you 
happy  because  you've  found  out?" 

I  did  not  answer.  To  tell  the  truth  I  was  not  entirely 
overcome  by  surprise  at  the  disclosure.  I  had  begun  to 
suspect  something  of  the  sort.  Yet,  now  that  my  suspi 
cions  were  confirmed,  I  was  too  greatly  shocked  and 
horrified  to  speak  at  once. 

"Well  ?"  he  sneered.  "Now  will  you  clear  out  and  let 
me  settle  this  my  own  way?" 

I  pulled  my  chair  forward  and  sat  down. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  George,"  I  said,  as  calmly  as  I 
could.  "How  much  is  it?" 

He  stared  at  me  aghast.  "You  won't  go?"  he  cried. 
"You — you  are  going  to  stick  by  me  even — even " 

"There !  there !  pull  yourself  together,  old  fellow.  We 
won't  give  up  the  ship  yet.  How  much  is  it?  It  can't 
be  a  great  sum." 

"It  ain't.  But,  Ros — you — you  can't — you  mustn't  be 
mixed  up  in  this.  I  shan't  let  you.  Don't  you  see?" 

299 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  argued  and  pleaded  and  reasoned  with  him  for  what 
seemed  a  long  time  before  he  would  consent  to  tell  me 
the  whole  story.  And  when  it  was  told  there  was  noth 
ing  new  or  novel  in  it.  The  old  tale  of  an  honest  man 
who  had  not  meant  to  go  wrong,  but,  tempted  by  one  of 
those  wiles  of  the  devil,  an  "inside  tip"  on  the  stock 
market,  had  bought  heavily  on  margins,  expecting  to 
clear  a  handsome  profit  in  a  short  time.  The  stock  was 
Louisville  and  Transcontinental  and  the  struggle  for  its 
control  by  certain  big  interests  had  made  copy  for  finan 
cial  writers  for  nearly  a  year.  George  had  bought  at 
a  time  when  one  syndicate  had,  so  it  believed,  secured 
the  control. 

Then  something  went  wrong  in  the  deal  and  the  shares 
began  to  decline  in  value.  He  put  up  more  margins 
and  still  more,  but  it  continued  to  decline.  Finally 
under  the  spur  of  another  "tip,"  the  last  of  his  own 
savings  having  gone  to  the  insatiate  brokers,  he  sent,  to 
bolster  his  account  and  to  save  him  from  utter  ruin, 
some  bonds  belonging  to  the  bank. 

"Not  much,"  he  declared,  "only  about  thirty-five  hun 
dred  dollars'  worth,  that's  all.  I  never  would  have  done 
it,  Ros,  but  I  was  wild,  desperate,  you  see.  Here  I  was, 
getting  ready  to  be  married;  Nellie  and  Cap'n  Jed  and 
the  rest  believing  me  to  be  comfortably  fixed.  It's  easy 
enough  now  to  say  that  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  her  and 
told  her.  If  I  hadn't  been  certain  that  the  market  would 
turn  and  I'd  be  all  right  in  a  week,  I'd  have  done  it.  But 
I  was  sure  I'd  be  all  right  and  I  couldn't  take  the  chance. 
I  knew  what  her  father  would  say  about  her  marrying  a 
pauper,  and  I  just  couldn't  take  the  risk  of  losing  her; 
I  couldn't.  She  means  more  to  me  than — than — oh,  wait 
until  your  time  comes !  Wait  until  the  girl  comes  along 
that  you  care  for  more  than  the  whole  world.  And  then 

300 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

see  what  you'd  do.  See  what  it  would  mean  to  give  her 
up!  Just  wait — wait  and  see!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  put  in,  hastily.  "I  understand,  George. 
But  the  stock,  Louisville  and  Transcontinental,  how  is 
it  now?" 

"Just  the  same.  It  is  dead,  practically  speaking.  It 
hasn't  moved  half  a  point  for  six  weeks.  I've  been  ex 
pecting  it  would,  but  it  hasn't.  It's  all  right;  the  value 
is  there ;  I  know  it.  If  I  could  only  hang  on  and  wait  I 
could  get  my  money  back,  part  of  it,  anyhow.  But  I 
can't.  I  can't  wait.  And  the  broker  people  have  got 
those  bonds.  Ros,  I've  been  fighting  this  thing  for  weeks 
and  weeks.  I  ain't  slept  a  night  for  years,  or  so  it  seems. 
And  next  week — next  week  I  was  to  be  married.  My 
God !  think  of  it !" 

"Here,  here!  Don't  do  that,"  I  urged.  "Brace  up. 
You  and  I  must  work  this  out.  Wasn't  there  any  one 
you  could  go  to?  Anyone  you  could  borrow  the  money 
of?  Thirty-five  hundred  isn't  such  a  lot." 

"Whom  could  I  go  to  ?  I  tried.  Lord  knows  I  tried ! 
I  did  borrow  a  thousand  of  Cap'n  Elisha  Warren; 
trumped  up  some  excuse  or  other  and  got  that.  But 
that  was  all  he  could  let  me  have.  And  I  know  he 
thought  my  asking  for  that  was  queer." 

"Did  you  consider  going  straight  to  Cap'n  Dean 
and " 

"Dean?  Cap'n  Jed?  Her  father?  Oh,  Ros,  don't  be 
a  fool  altogether !  I  beg  your  pardon,  old  man !  I  don't 
mean  it.  You  mustn't  mind.  I  ain't  responsible  for  what 
I  say  just  now.  But  I  couldn't  go  to  Cap'n  Jed.  You 
know  him.  He's  as  straight  and  square  and  honest  as  he 
is  obstinate  and  cranky.  If  I  went  to  him  I  couldn't 
tell  him  the  truth.  And  if  I  lied  he'd  suspect  and  want 
to  know  why  I  needed  to  borrow  money.  And  Nellie — 

301 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

cten't  you  see?  There's  the  real  awfulness  of  the  whole 
thing.  I  couldn't  go  to  her  and  tell  her  I  was  a  thief.  I 
couldn't  see  her  face  when  I  told  her.  And  yet  she's 
got  to  know  it.  She's  got  to  know  it !" 

"But  why?  The  stock  may  go  up  any  day  and  then 
you  could  withdraw  part  of  your  margin." 

He  struck  the  table  with  another  blow.  "The  stock 
ain't  moved  for  six  weeks,  I  tell  you,"  he  declared. 
"And,  Ros,"  he  leaned  forward,  his  haggard  face  work 
ing  with  emotion,  "those  bonds  ain't  in  our  safe  here, 
where  they  should  be,  and  the  bank  examiner  is  due 
here  within  the  next  four  days.  He's  at  Middleboro 
now.  I  'phoned  Bearse,  the  cashier  there,  this  very  fore 
noon  on  a  matter  of  business,  and  he  happened  to  men 
tion  that  the  examiner  was  in  his  bank  and  working  his 
way  down  the  Cape.  It's  all  up  with  me!  All  up! 
And  Nellie !  poor  girl ;  I  can't  be  here  when  she  finds  it 
out.  I  know  you  think  I'm  a  poor  specimen  of  a  man, 
Ros,  but  I  can't  face  the  music.  No,"  desperately,  "and 
I  won't." 

He  was  giving  way  again,  but  I  seized  his  shoulder 
and  shook  him. 

"Stop  it!"  I  commanded.  "Stop  it,  George!  Let  me 
think.  Be  quiet  now  and  let  me  think.  There  must  be 
a  way  out  somewhere.  Let  me  think." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "All  right,"  he  said, 
hopelessly;  "think,  if  you  want  to.  Though  why  you 
should  want  to  think  about  a  thing  like  me  I  don't  see. 
And  I  used  to  despise  a  crook  as  much  as  any  one !  and  a 
coward  still  more!  And  now  I'm  both  a  crook  and  a 
coward." 

I  knew  his  cowardice  was  merely  on  Nellie's  account. 
George  Taylor  was  no  coward  in  the  ordinary  sense  of 
the  word,  nor  was  he  a  crook.  I  rose  and  paced  up  and 

302 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

down  the  room.  He  watched  me  listlessly;  it  was  plain 
that  he  felt  no  confidence  whatever  in  my  being  able  to 
help  him.  After  a  time  he  spoke. 

"It's  no  use,  Ros,"  he  said.  "Don't  worry  your  head 
about  me;  I  ain't  worth  it.  If  there  was  any  way  out, 
any  way  at  all,  I'd  have  sighted  it  long  ago.  There 
ain't.  Take  my  advice  and  leave  me.  You  don't  want 
to  be  mixed  up  with  an  embezzler." 

I  turned  on  him,  impatiently.  "I  have  been  mixed  up, 
as  you  call  it,  with  one  before,"  I  said,  sharply.  "Is  my 
own  family  record  so  clean  that  I  need  to  pretend — there, 
George!  don't  be  an  idiot.  Let  me  think." 

The  clock  chimed  ten.  I  stopped  in  my  walk  and 
turned  to  him. 

"George,"  I  said,  "tell  me  this :  If  you  had  the  money 
to  buy  back  these  bonds  belonging  to  the  bank  you 
would  be  all  right,  wouldn't  you  ?  If  you  had  it  in  your 
hands  by  to-morrow  morning,  I  mean." 

"Yes ;  if  I  had  it— but  I  haven't." 

"You  could  send  the  money  to  the  brokers  and " 

"Send !  I  wouldn't  send ;  I'd  go  myself  and  fetch  the 
bonds  back  with  me.  Once  I  had  them  in  that  safe 
again  I " 

"And  you  would  not  take  any  more  risks,  even  if  the 
market  dropped  and  they  had  to  sell  out  your  account? 
Even  if  you  lost  every  cent  of  your  investment?" 

The  fierce  earnestness  of  his  answer  satisfied  even  me. 

"What  do  you  think  I  am?"  he  demanded.  "Invest 
ment  be  hanged !  It's  my  name  as  an  honest  man  that  I 
care  about.  Once  let  me  get  that  back  again  and  I'll 
face  the  poorhouse.  Yes,  and  I'll  tell  Nellie  the  truth, 
all  except  that  I  was  a  thief;  I  can't  tell  her  that.  But 
I  will  tell  her  that  I  haven't  got  a  cent  except  my  salary. 
Then  if  she  wants  to  give  me  up,  all  right.  I'll  bear  it  as 

303 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

best  I  can.  Or,  if  she  doesn't,  and  I  lose  my  job  here, 
I'll  get  another  one  somewhere  else;  I'll  work  at  any 
thing.  She  and  I  can  wait  and  .  .  .  But  what  is 
the  use  of  talking  like  this?  I've  been  over  every  inch 
of  the  ground  a  thousand  times.  There  ain't  a  ray  of 
light  anywhere.  The  examiner  will  be  here,  the  bonds 
will  be  missing,  and  I — I'll  be  in  jail,  or  in  hell,  one  or 
the  other." 

"No,  you  won't,"  I  said,  firmly. 

"I  won't!    Why  not?" 

"Because  there  is  a  ray  of  light.  More  than  a  ray. 
George,  you  go  home  and  go  to  bed.  To-morrow  morn 
ing  I  may  have  news  for  you,  good  news." 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face.  He  seized  the  arm  of 
his  chair. 

"Good  news!"  he  gasped.  "Good  news  for  me!  Ros 
— Ros,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  what  do  you  mean?  You 
don't  mean  you  see  a  way  to " 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean.  But  I  should  like  to  know 
what  you  mean  by  not  coming  to  me  before  ?  What  are 
friends  for,  if  not  to  help  each  other?  Who  told  you 
that  I  was  dead  broke?" 

"You  ?  Why,  you  ain't  got  .  .  .  Have  you  ?  Ros 
Paine,  you  ain't  got  thirty-five  hundred  to  spare.  Why, 
you  told  me  yourself " 

"Shut  up !  Get  up  from  that  chair  and  come  with  me. 
Yes,  you ;  and  now,  this  minute.  Give  me  that  thing 
you've  got  in  the  drawer  there.  No,  I'll  take  it  myself. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  its  being  there,  George.  I 
am  ashamed  of  you,  and,  if  I  thought  you  really  meant 
to  use  it,  I  should  be  still  more  ashamed.  Come!  don't 
keep  me  waiting." 

"But— but  Ros " 

"Will  you  do  as  I  tell  you?" 

304 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  dragged  him,  almost  literally  dragged  him,  from  the 
chair.  Then,  after  extinguishing  the  lamp,  I  led  him 
to  the  door  of  the  bank  and  locked  it,  putting  the  key  in 
my  pocket. 

"Now,"  said  I,  "I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise.  I 
want  you  to  quit  behaving  like  a  coward,  because  you 
are  not  one,  and  promise  me  that  you  will  go  straight 
home  and  to  bed.  I'll  see  you  again  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  Then,  I  think — yes,  I  think  your  troubles, 
the  worst  part  of  them,  will  be  over." 

"But,  Ros,  please — I  can't  believe  it!  Won't  you  tell 
me " 

"Not  a  word.  Will  you  promise  me  to  behave  like  a 
man  and  go  home?  Or  must  I  go  with  you?" 

"No.  I'll — I'll  promise.  I'll  go  straight  home.  But, 
oh  Ros,  I  can't  understand " 

"Good  night." 

I  left  him  standing  there,  stammering  incoherently 
like  a  man  awakening  from  a  nightmare,  and  hurried 
away. 

I  could  not  describe  my  progress  down  the  dark  Lower 
Road  and  along  the  Shore  Lane.  I  do  not  remember 
any  portion  of  it.  I  think  I  ran  most  of  the  way  and  if 
I  met  any  one — which  is  not  likely,  considering  the  time — 
he  or  she  must  have  thought  me  crazy.  My  thoughts 
were  centered  upon  one  fixed  purpose.  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  do  a  certain  thing  and,  if  possible,  to  do  it 
that  very  night.  If  I  did  not,  if  I  had  time  in  which  to 
reflect,  to  consider  consequences,  I  might  lose  my  nerve 
and  it  would  not  be  done  at  all. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  great  relief  that,  as  I  came  in 
sight  of  the  Colton  house,  I  saw  lights  in  the  rooms  on 
the  lower  floor.  The  family,  not  being  native  born  Den- 
boroites,  had  not  retired  even  though  it  was  well  after  ten. 

305 


I  hastened  up  the  long  drive,  and  stood  before  the  big 
door,  my  hand  upraised  to  the  knocker.  And  then,  just 
for  a  moment,  I  hesitated. 

If  I  lifted  that  knocker  and  let  it  fall ;  if  I  summoned 
the  servant  and  announced  that  I  wished  to  speak  with 
Mr.  Colton;  if  I  did  what  I  had  come  there  to  do,  it 
would  be  all  over  with  me  in  the  village.  My  new  born 
popularity,  the  respect  which  Cap'n  Warren  and  Cap'n 
Jed  and  the  rest  of  the  townspeople  had  shown  toward 
me  of  late,  the  cordial  recognition  which  had  been  mine 
during  the  past  few  weeks  and  which,  in  spite  of  pre 
tended  indifference,  I  had  come  to  expect  and  enjoy,  all 
these  would  be  lost  if  I  persisted  in  my  purpose.  My 
future  in  Denboro  depended  upon  whether  or  not  I 
knocked  at  that  door.  And  it  was  not  too  late  to  back 
out,  even  yet.  I  had  only  to  turn  quietly  away  and  tell 
George,  when  I  saw  him  in  the  morning,  that  I  could 
not  help  him  as  I  had  hoped.  And  then  I  thought  of 
his  face  as  I  saw  it  when  I  entered  the  bank — and  of 
Nellie's  letter  to  me. 

I  seized  the  knocker  and  rapped  sharply. 

For  a  few  moments  my  knock  was  unanswered.  Then 
I  heard  footsteps  and  the  door  was  opened.  Johnson, 
the  butler,  opened  it,  and  his  clerical  countenance  as 
sumed  a  most  astonished  expression  when  he  saw  me 
standing  before  him. 

"Is  Mr.  Colton  in?"  I  asked. 

"What?  What— sir?"  stammered  Johnson.  The  "sir" 
was  added  under  protest.  He  did  not  wish  to  show 
more  respect  than  was  absolutely  necessary  to  a  country 
man,  but  he  scarcely  dared  speak  as  disrespectfully  as  he 
felt.  Therefore  he  compromised  by  voicing  the  respect 
and  looking  the  other  way. 

"Is  Mr.  Colton  in?"  I  repeated. 
306 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  don't  know.    I — I  don't  think  so— sir." 

The  windows  at  my  left  were,  I  knew,  those  of  the 
library,  the  room  where  "Big  Jim"  and  I  had  had  our 
first  lively  discussion  of  the  Shore  Lane  matter.  I 
glanced  at  them. 

"I  think  he  is,"  I  said.  "In  fact  I  know  it;  there  is 
his  shadow  on  the  curtain.  Tell  him  Mr.  Paine  wishes 
to  speak  with  him." 

Johnson  looked  as  insolent  as  he  dared,  and  still  hesi 
tated. 

"It  is  very  late,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Colton  is  not  in  the 
'abit  of  receiving  callers  at  this  time  of  night  and " 

He  was  interrupted.  The  door  behind  him,  the  door 
leading  from  the  library  to  the  hall,  opened  and  Colton 
himself  appeared. 

"What  is  it,  Johnson?"  he  asked.    "Anything  wrong?" 

The  butler  hastened  to  explain. 

"No  sir,"  he  said ;  "nothing  wrong  exactly,  sir.  There 
is  a  person  'ere  to  see  you,  sir,  and ' 

"To  see  me,  eh?  Who  is  it?  Why,  hello,  Paine!  is 
that  you?" 

"Mr.  Colton,"  said  I,  "I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you  at 
such  a  late  hour,  but " 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  he  interrupted.  "What  are  you 
standing  out  there  for?  Johnson,  why  didn't  you  ask 
Mr.  Paine  in?  What  do  you  mean  by  keeping  him  out 
there?" 

Mr.  Johnson  looked  troubled. 

"It  was  so  late,  sir,"  he  stammered,  "I  thought " 

"You  thought!  If  I  had  wanted  any  one  to  think  I 
never  should  have  hired  you.  Come  in,  Paine.  Come 
into  the  library." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  library  and  I  followed  him.  It 
was  my  second  visit  to  the  big,  handsomely  furnished 

307 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

room  and  again,  as  on  the  first  occasion,  the  sight  of  the 
books  and  all  the  other  refinements  and  luxuries  which 
money  brings  to  its  possessor  gave  me  a  pang  of  envy 
and  resentment.  It  added  increased  bitterness  to  the 
humiliation  of  my  errand.  I  had  left  that  room  defiantly 
expressing  my  independence.  I  had  come  back  to 
it " 

"Sit  down,"  ordered  Colton,  pulling  forward  the  big, 
leather-covered  chair.  "Have  a  cigar?" 

"No  thank  you." 

"Humph !  That's  what  you  said  when  you  were  here 
before.  You're  young,  Paine.  When  you  get  to  be  as 
old  as  I  am  you'll  never  refuse  a  good  cigar,  or  anything 
else  that  is  good,  when  it  is  offered  you.  Well,  you're 
still  standing.  Aren't  going  to  refuse  to  sit  down,  are 
you?" 

That  was  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  do.  I  would  not 
sit  down  in  that  house.  I  would  not  accept  the  slightest 
courtesy  from  this  man  or  any  of  his  people.  I  would 
get  rid  of  the  unpleasant  task  I  had  come  to  do  and  then 
go  away,  never  to  return.  They  might  make  the  most 
of  the  triumph  which  was  to  be  theirs,  but  I  would  com 
pel  them  to  understand  that  I  was  not  seeking  their 
favor.  I  would  not  accept  their  patronage  and  they 
should  know  it.  This,  as  I  look  back  at  it  now,  seems 
silly  and  childish  enough,  but  I  was  not  myself  that 
night. 

"Mr.  Colton,"  said  I,  ignoring  the  proffered  chair,  "I 
have  come  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"Business,  eh  ?  Umph !  I  thought  probably  you  were 
going  to  ask  me  to  go  fishing  with  you  again.  I'm  all 
ready  for  another  tussle  with  those — what  do  you  call 
'em — squid — squit — good  Lord!  what  a  name  for  a  de 
cent  fish !  But  I  don't  care  a  continental  what  you  call 

308 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

'em.  I'm  ready  to  get  at  'em  when  you  say  the 
word." 

"My  business  will  not  detain  either  of  us  long.    I " 

"Sit  down,  man,  sit  down.  You  make  me  nervous 
standing  there." 

"No.     I  won't  sit." 

He  looked  at  me. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked.  "You 
haven't  got  a  balky  digestion,  have  you  ?  I've  been  fight 
ing  one  for  the  last  week.  That  fool  of  a  country  doc 
tor  tells  me  if  I'm  not  careful  what  I  eat  I'll  keel  over 
pretty  soon.  I  told  him  I'd  eaten  what  I  dashed  please 
ever  since  I'd  had  teeth  and  I  wasn't  going  to  quit  now. 
But  I  do  feel  like  the  devil.  Look  it,  don't  I  ?" 

He  did  look  ill,  that  was  a  fact,  though  I  had  not 
noticed  it  before  and  was  far  from  feeling  pity  for  him 
then.  In  fact  I  was  rather  glad  to  know  that  he  was 
uncomfortable.  I  wanted  him  to  be. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  he  demanded.  "You 
look  as  if  you  had  seen  your  grandmother's  ghost." 

I  ignored  the  question.  "Mr.  Colton,"  I  began  again. 
"You  made  an  offer  not  long  ago." 

I  had  caught  his  attention  at  last.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair. 

"I  did,"  he  said.  "Ye-es,  I  did.  Do  you  mean  you 
are  going  to  accept  it?" 

"In  a  way — yes." 

"In  a  way?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  I  tell  you 
frankly,  Paine,  if  you  go  to  work  for  me  there  must  be 
no  'ifs'  or  'buts'  about  it.  You'll  enter  my  office  and 
you'll  do  as  I,  or  the  men  under  me,  tell  you  to  do." 

I  was  glad  he  said  that,  glad  that  he  misunderstood 
me.  It  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  express  my  feelings 
toward  him — as  I  was  feeling  then. 

309 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Don't  let  that  trouble  you,"  I  said,  sarcastically. 
"There  will  be  no  'ifs'  and  'buts'  so  far  as  that  is  con 
cerned.  I  have  no  desire  to  work  for  you,  Mr.  Colton, 
and  I  don't  intend  doing  so.  That  was  not  the  offer  I 
meant." 

He  was  surprised,  I  am  sure,  but  he  did  not  express 
astonishment.  He  bent  forward  and  looked  at  me  more 
keenly  than  ever. 

"There  was  only  one  other  offer  that  I  remember  mak 
ing  you,"  he  said,  slowly.  "That  was  for  that  land  of 
yours.  I  offered  you  five  thousand  dollars  for  it.  Do 
you  mean  you  accept  that  offer?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"Humph!  Paine,  we're  wasting  a  lot  of  time  here, 
it  seems  to  me.  My  time  is  more  or  less  valuable,  and 
my  digestion  is,  as  I  told  you,  pretty  bad.  Come !  get 
it  over.  What  do  you  mean  ?  Are  you  going  to  sell  me 
that  land?" 

"Yes." 

He  puffed  deliberately  at  his  cigar.  His  gaze  did  not 
leave  my  face. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"That  is  my  own  affair.  I  will  sell  you  the  land,  but 
not  for  five  thousand  dollars." 

His  expression  changed.  He  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  cigar  and  frowned. 

"I  see,"  he  sneered.  "Humph!  Well,  I've  tried  to 
make  it  plain  to  you  fellows  down  here  that  I  couldn't 
be  held  up.  I  thought  I'd  done  it,  but  evidently  I  haven't. 
Five  hundred  is  a  good  price  for  that  land.  Five  thou 
sand  is  ridiculous,  but  I  gave  you  my  reasons  for  be 
ing  willing  to  be  robbed  that  much.  That,  however,  is 
the  limit.  I'll  give  you  five  thousand,  but  not  another 
cent.  You  can  take  it  or  get  out." 

310 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

This  was  better.  When  he  talked  like  that  I  could 
answer  him  and  enjoy  it. 

"I'll  get  out  very  shortly,"  I  said.  "You  are  no  more 
anxious  to  have  that  happen  than  I  am.  I  don't  want 
your  other  cent.  I  don't  want  your  five  thousand  dol 
lars.  I'll  sell  you  the  land  on  one  condition — no,  on  two. 
The  first  is  that  you  pay  me  thirty-five  hundred  dollars 
for  it." 

"What?" 

I  had  upset  his  composure  this  time.  He  forgot  to 
sneer;  he  even  forgot  to  smoke. 

"What  ?"  he  cried  again.  "Thirty-five  hundred !  Why, 
I  offered  you " 

"I  know  your  offer.  This  is  mine:  I  will  sell  you  the 
land  for  thirty-five  hundred,  and  not  another  cent.  That, 
as  you  say,  is  the  limit.  You  can  take  it  or — or  I  will 
follow  your  suggestion  and  get  out." 

We  looked  at  each  other.  His  fingers  moved  toward 
the  match  box  on  the  table.  He  took  a  match,  scratched 
it,  and  held  it  to  the  end  of  his  cigar.  Then  he  took  the 
cigar  from  his  lips,  blew  out  the  match  and  tossed  the 
latter  into  the  fireplace. 

"What  is  the  second  condition?"  he   asked,  abrupt- 

ly. 

"That  you  pay  me  in  cash,  in  money  and  not  by  check, 
at  once." 

"At  once?    Now,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  now.  To-night  if  possible ;  if  not,  no  later  than 
nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"Humph!  Do  you  think  I  carry  thirty-five  hundred 
loose  in  my  change  pocket?" 

"I  don't  know.    But  that  is  the  second  condition." 

"Humph !  .  .  .  Look  here,  Paine ;  what —  ?  I  of 
fered  you  the  five  thousand.  That  offer  holds  good." 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  don't  accept  it.  I  will  sell  for  thirty-five  hundred; 
no  more  and  no  less." 

"But  why  not  more?" 

"I  don't  know.  Yes,  I  do,  too.  You  said  once  that 
you  were  willing  to  pay  forty-five  hundred  for  the  privi 
lege  of  having  your  own  way.  Perhaps  I  am  willing  to 
sacrifice  fifteen  hundred  for  the  privilege  of  having  mine. 
At  all  events  I  mean  what  I  say." 

"But  why  just  thirty-five?  Wouldn't  you  take  thirty- 
six?" 

"No.  It  is  useless  to  argue,  Mr.  Colton,  and  useless 
to  ask  my  reasons.  I  have  them,  and  that  is  enough. 
Will  you  accept  my  offer?" 

He  hesitated.  The  sneer  had  left  his  face  and  his  tone 
when  he  addressed  me  was  respectful,  though  there  was 
a  curious  note  of  chagrin  or  dissatisfaction  in  it.  I  had 
expected  him  to  be  eager  and,  perhaps,  mockingly  tri 
umphant.  He  was  not.  He  seemed  reluctant,  almost  dis 
appointed. 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  he  said.  "But,  Paine,  what 
is  up?  Why  are  you  doing  this?  You're  not  afraid  of 
me?  No,  of  course  you're  not.  You're  not  the  kind  to 
squeal  and  lie  down  because  you  think  the  odds  are 
against  you  .  .  .  Confound  you !"  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  impatience,  "you  are  enough  to  upset  all  the 
self-conceit  a  man's  got  in  him.  Just  as  I  think  I'm  be 
ginning  to  size  you  up  you  break  loose  in  a  new  place." 

"Pardon  me,"  I  put  in,  "but  I  don't  see  that  you  are 
helping  to  save  that  valuable  time  of  yours.  I  under 
stand  that  you  accept.  Will  you  pay  me  now?" 

He  rose,  threw  away  his  cigar,  and,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  stood  regarding  me. 

"Your  mind  is  made  up,  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

312 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Humph!  Have  you  thought  of  what  our  mutual 
friend  Dean  and  the  rest  of  the  patriots  may  say  when 
they  find  this  out?" 

I  had  thought  of  little  else  all  the  way  from  the  bank 
to  his  door.  I  was  thinking  of  it  then. 

"Of  course,"  he  added,  "that  is  not  my  affair,  but " 

"It  is  not." 

"You're  right;  it  isn't.  Still— hang  it  all,  Paine!  I 
don't  often  feel  any  compunctions  when  I  beat  a  fellow 
in  a  game  like  this,  and  I  did  intend  to  have  my  own 
way  in  this  one " 

"Well,  you're  having  it,  aren't  you?"  I  put  in.  "Why 
talk  so  much  about  it  ?" 

"Because  I  am  not  so  sure  I  am  having  it.  Of  course 
I  can  see  that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  you  need  thirty- 
five  hundred  dollars.  Anyone  but  you,  if  they  were  go 
ing  to  sell,  would  get  the  last  dime  they  could  squeeze. 
You  won't,  because  you  are  as  pig-headed  as — as " 

"Oh,  do  cut  it  short,"  I  snapped.  And  then,  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  my  rudeness,  "Excuse  me,  Mr.  Colton,  but 
this  isn't  exactly  pleasant  for  me  and  I  want  to  get  it 
over.  Will  you  pay  me  now?" 

"Hold  on;  let  me  finish.  I  was  going  to  say  that,  if 
you  needed  the  thirty-five,  perhaps  I  could  manage  to 
let  you  have  it." 

I  stared  at  him.  "Let  me  have  it !"  I  cried.  "Do  you 
mean  you'll  lend  it  to  me  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  maybe.  You  and  I  have  had  such  a  first- 
rate,  square,  stand  up  fight  that  I  rather  hate  to  have  it 
end.  I  want  to  lick  you,  not  have  you  quit  before  I've 
really  begun  to  fight.  There's  no  fool  philanthropy  in 
this,  understand ;  it  is  just  for  my  own  satisfaction." 

I  was  so  taken  aback  by  this  totally  unexpected  offer 
from  th»  man  whom  I  had  insulted  a  dozen  times  since 

3U 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  entered  his  house,  that  I  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
answer. 

"What  do  you  say  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  I  faltered.  And  then  more  firmly,  "No;  cer 
tainly  not.  I — I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Colton, 
but — no." 

"All  right.  You  know  best.  I'll  take  your  offer  and  I 
will  hand  you  the  money  at  the  bank  to-morrow  morning. 
Will  that  do?" 

"Not  at  the  bank,  Mr.  Colton.  Send  it  over  to  the 
house,  if  you  can  conveniently." 

"I'll  have  it  here  before  ten.  My  lawyer  will  draw  up 
the  papers  and  arrange  for  transfer  of  title  in  a  few 
days.  What  ?  Going,  are  you  ?  Good  night.  Oh — er — • 
Paine,  remember  that  my  other  offer,  that  of  the 
place  in  my  office,  is  open  when  you're  ready  to  take 
it." 

I  shook  my  head.  I  had  turned  to  go,  but  now  I  turned 
back,  feeling  that,  perhaps,  I  should  apologize  again  for 
my  rudeness.  After  all,  he  had  been  kind,  very  kind, 
and  I  had  scarcely  thanked  him.  So  I  turned  back  to 
say  something,  I  hardly  knew  what. 

My  doing  so  was  a  mistake.  The  door  behind  me 
opened  and  a  voice  said  reproachfully,  "Father,  are  you 
still  here  ?  The  doctor  said  .  .  .  Oh,  I  beg  pardon." 

I  recognized  the  voice.  Of  all  voices  in  the  world  I 
wished  least  to  hear  it  just  then.  My  back  was  toward 
the  door  and  I  kept  it  so.  If  she  would  only  go!  If 
she  would  only  shut  that  door  and  go  away ! 

I  think  she  would  have  gone  but  her  father  called  her. 

"Mabel,"  he  cried,  "Mabel,  don't  go.  It's  all  right. 
Come  in.  Paine  and  I  have  finished  our  talk.  Nothing 
more  you  wished  to  say,  was  there,  Paine?" 

"No,"  said  I.    I  was  obliged  to  turn  now ;  I  could  not 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

get  out  of  that  room  without  doing  it.  So  turn  I  did, 
and  we  faced  each  other. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  with  all  the 
calmness  I  could  muster. 

She  said,  "Good  evening,"  distantly  and  without  any 
enthusiasm,  but  I  saw  her  glance  at  her  father  and  then 
at  me  and  I  knew  she  was  wondering  what  our  being 
together  could  possibly  mean. 

"Paine  has  been  making  me  a  little  call,"  explained 
Colton,  his  eye  twinkling.  "Mabel,  I'll  risk  another  bet 
that  you  can't  guess  why  he  came." 

"I  shall  not  try,"  she  said,  disdainfully. 

"Oh,  you'd  better !  No?  You  won't?  Well,  then,  I'll 
tell  you.  He  has  just  sold  me  that  land  of  his  ... 
Don't  look  at  me  like  that ;  he  has.  We  had  a  little  dis 
agreement  as  to  price,  but,"  with  a  grin,  "I  met  his  fig 
ures  and  we  closed  the  deal.  Aren't  you  going  to  con 
gratulate  him  on  having  come  to  his  senses  at  last? 
Come !  he's  waiting  for  congratulations." 

This  was  not  true.  I  was  waiting  for  nothing;  I  was 
on  my  way  to  the  door.  But,  to  reach  it  I  was  obliged 
to  pass  her  and  our  eyes  met.  My  glance  wavered,  I 
know,  but  hers  did  not.  For  a  moment  she  looked  at 
me.  Then  she  smiled.  Whenever  I  am  tempted  to  be 
vain,  even  now,  I  remember  that  smile. 

"I  congratulate  him,"  she  said.  "Come,  Father;  you 
must  go  to  bed  now." 


315 


CHAPTER  XVII 

I  AM  not  going  to  attempt  a  description  of  my 
thoughts  that  night.  It  would  take  too  long  and 
the  description  would  be  wearisome.  Other  peo 
ple's  miseries  are  not  interesting  and  I  shall  not  cata 
log  mine.  Morning  came  at  last  and  I  rose,  bathed  my 
hot  face  in  cold  water,  and  went  down  stairs.  Early  as 
it  was,  not  yet  six,  I  heard  Dorinda  in  the  kitchen  and, 
having  no  desire  for  conversation,  I  went  out  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  beach  until  breakfast  time.  I  had  to 
pretend  to  eat,  but  I  ate  so  little  that  both  Lute  and 
Dorinda  once  more  commented  upon  my  lack  ol  appe-'i 
tite.  Lute,  who  had  never  become  fully  reconciled  to  my 
becoming  a  member  of  the  working  class,  hastened  to  lay 
the  blame  for  my  condition  upon  my  labors  at  the  bank. 

"The  trouble  is,"  he  announced,  dogmatically,  "the 
trouble  is,  Roscoe,  that  you  ain't  fitted  for  bein  shut  up 
astern  of  a  deck.  Look  at  yourself  now !  Just  go  into 
Comfort's  room  and  stand  in  front  of  her  lookin'  glass 
and  look  at  yourself.  There  you  be,  pale  and  peaked 
and  wore  out.  Look  for  all  the  world  just  as  I  done 
when  I  had  the  tonsils  two  winters  ago.  Ain't  that  so, 
Dorindy?" 

His  wife's  answer  was  a  contemptuous  sniff. 

"If  you  mean  to  say  that  you  looked  peaked  when  you 
had  sore  throat,"  she  announced,  "then  there's  somethin' 
the  matter  with  your  mind  or  your  eyesight,  one  or 
t'other.  You  peaked?  Why,  your  face  was  swelled  up 

316 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

like  a  young  one's  balloon  Fourth  of  July  Day.  And  as 
for  bein'  pale !  My  soul !  I  give  you  my  word  I 
couldn't  scurcely  tell  where  your  neck  left  off  and  the 
strip  of  red  flannel  you  made  me  tie  'round  it  begun." 

"Don't  make  no  difference !  I  felt  pale,  anyhow.  And 
I  didn't  eat  no  more'n  Ros  does.  You'll  have  to  give  in 
to  that,  Dorindy.  I  didn't  eat  nothin'  but  beef  tea  and 
gruel." 

"You  et  enough  of  them  to  float  a  schooner." 

"Maybe  I  did,"  with  grieved  dignity;  "maybe  I  did. 
But  that's  no  reason  why  you  should  set  there  and  heave 
my  sufferin's  in  my  face." 

"What  is  the  man  talkin'  about  now  ?  I  didn't  heave 
'em  in  your  face.  They  come  there  themselves,  same  as 
sore  throat  sufferin's  generally  do,  and  if  you  hadn't 
waded  around  in  the  snow  with  leaky  boots,  because  you 
was  too  lazy  to  take  'em  to  the  shoemaker's  to  be  patched, 
they  wouldn't." 

Lute  drew  back  from  the  table.  "It's  no  use !"  he  de 
clared,  "a  man  can't  even  be  sick  in  peace  in  this  house. 
Some  wives  would  have  been  sorry  to  see  their  husbands 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave." 

"Your  feet  was  in  the  cookstove  oven  most  of  the 
time.  There !  there !  the  more  you  talk  the  further  from 
home  you  get.  You  started  in  with  Roscoe  and  the  bank 
and  you're  in  the  grave  already.  If  I  was  you  I'd  quit 
afore  I  went  any  further.  Land  knows  where  you  might 
fetch  up  if  you  kept  on !  I  .  .  .  Mercy  on  us !  who's 
at  the  kitchen  door  this  time  in  the  mornin'?" 

Her  husband,  ever  curious,  was  on  his  way  to  answer 
the  knock  already.  He  came  back,  a  moment  later,  sput 
tering  with  excitement. 

"It's  that  Mr.  butler,  the  Johnson  over  to  Mr.  Col- 
ton's,"  he  whispered.  "I  mean  it's  that  Jutler — that — 

317 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

There,  Dorindy !  you  see  what  sort  of  a  state  your  heo 
torin'  has  worked  me  into!  It's  that  parson  critter  who 
opens  Colton's  door  for  him,  that's  who  'tis.  And  he 
wants  to  see  Ros.  I  tried  to  find  out  what  for,  but  he 
wouldn't  tell." 

Even  Dorinda  showed  surprise.  She  looked  at  the 
clock,  "This  hour  of  the  mornin' !"  she  exclaimed ;  "what 
in  the  world — ?" 

I  hastened  to  the  kitchen,  closing  the  dining-room  door 
behind  me  just  in  time  to  prevent  Lute's  following  me. 
Johnson,  the  butler,  was  standing  on  the  mica  slab  at 
the  threshold  inspecting  our  humble  premises  with  lofty 
disdain. 

"Mr.  Colton  sent  this  to  you,  sir,"  he  said,  handing  me 
an  envelope.  "He  wishes  you  to  send  a  receipt  by  me." 

I  took  the  envelope  and,  stepping  back  out  of  sight, 
tore  it  open.  Inside  was  a  check  on  a  New  York  bank 
for  four  thousand  dollars.  It  was  made  payable  to 
"Bearer."  With  it  was  this  brief  note: 

Dear  Paine: 

This  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  you,  as  I  haven't  the 
money  on  hand.  Cash  it  yourself,  take  out  your  thirty- 
five  hundred  and  hold  the  additional  five  hundred  until 
I,  or  one  of  the  family,  call  for  it.  I  made  the  thing 
payable  to  Bearer  because  I  imagined  you  would  prefer 
it  that  way.  Send  me  some  sort  of  receipt  by  Johnson ; 
anything  will  do.  I  will  see  my  lawyer  in  a  day  or  two. 
Meanwhile  have  your  papers,  deeds,  etc.,  ready  when  he 
calls  for  them. 

Yours  truly, 

JAMES  W.  COLTON. 

For  a  minute  I  considered.  If  I  could  cash  the  check 
at  the  bank  without  Taylor's  knowledge  and  get  him  off 
to  Boston  on  the  early  train,  I  might  be  able  to  cover  my 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

tracks.  It  was  necessary  that  they  should  be  covered. 
Knowing  George  as  I  did  I  knew  that  he  would  never 
consent  to  my  sacrifice.  He  would  not  permit  me  to 
wreck  my  future  in  Denboro  to  save  him.  The  money 
must  be  turned  over  to  the  Boston  bankers  and  the  bank's 
bonds  once  more  in  the  vault  where  they  belonged  be 
fore  he  learned  where  that  money  came  from.  Then  it 
would  be  too  late  to  refuse  and  too  late  to  undo  what 
had  been  done.  He  would  have  to  accept  and  I  might 
be  able  to  prevail  upon  him  to  keep  silent  regarding  the 
whole  affair.  I  disliked  the  check  with  Colton's  name 
upon  it ;  I  should  have  much  preferred  the  cash ;  but 
cash,  it  seemed,  could  not  be  had  without  considerable 
delay,  and  with  that  bank  examiner's  visit  imminent 
every  moment  of  time  was  valuable.  I  folded  the  check, 
put  it  in  my  pocketbook,  and,  hastily  scribbling  a  receipt 
in  pencil  at  the  bottom  of  Colton's  note,  replaced  the 
latter  in  the  envelope  and  handed  it  to  Johnson,  who  de 
parted. 

Entering  the  dining-room  I  found  Dorinda  and  Lute 
at  the  window,  peering  after  the  butler. 

"By  time !"  exclaimed  Lute,  "if  I  didn't  know  I  should 
say  he  was  a  bigger  big-bug  than  old  Colton  himself. 
Look  how  he  struts!  He  sartin  is  a  dignified  lookin* 
man.  I  don't  see  how  he  ever  come  to  be  just  hired 
help." 

"Um-hm,"  sniffed  the  cynical  Mrs.  Rogers.  "Well, 
you  can  get  an  awful  lot  of  dignity  for  its  board  and 
lodgin' !  There's  nothin'  much  more  dignified  or  struts 
much  better'n  a  rooster,  but  it's  the  hens  that  lay  the  eggs. 
What  did  he  want,  Roscoe?" 

I  made  some  excuse  or  other  for  Mr.  Johnson's  early 
call  and,  taking  my  cap  from  the  rack,  hurried  from  the 
house.  I  went  "across  lots"  and,  running  a  good  part 

319 


THE   RISE   OF.ROSCOE   PAINE 

of  the  way,  reached  the  bank  just  as  Sam  Wheeler  was 
sweeping  out.  He  expressed  surprise  at  my  early  ar 
rival  and  wished  to  know  what  was  up. 

"Ain't  nothin'  wrong,  is  there,  Ros?"  asked  Sam  anx 
iously.  "I  saw  by  the  paper  that  the  market  was  fever 
ish  again  yesterday." 

Sam  was  an  ambitious  youth  and,  being  desirous  of  be 
coming  a  banker  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  read  the 
financial  page  with  conscientious  thoroughness.  I  as 
sured  him  that  the  market's  fever  was  not  contagious — 
at  least  I  had  not  contracted  the  disease — and  sent 
him  out  to  sweep  the  front  steps.  As  soon  as  he  had 
gone  I  opened  the  safe,  found,  to  my  joy,  that  we  had 
an  abundance  of  currency  on  hand,  cashed  the  Colton 
check  and  locked  it  securely  in  the  drawer  of  my 
own  desk.  So  far  I  was  safe.  Now  to  secure  George's 
safety. 

He  came  in  soon  after,  looking  as  if,  as  he  had  told 
me,  he  had  not  slept  for  years.  He  bade  Sam  good 
morning  and  then  walked  over  to  my  side. 

"Well,  Ros?"  he  asked,  laying  a  shaking  hand  on  the 
desk  beside  me. 

"Not  here,  George,"  I  whispered.  "Come  into  the 
directors'  room." 

I  led  the  way  and  he  followed  me.  I  closed  the  door 
behind  us,  took  the  thirty-five  hundred  dollars  in  notes 
from  my  pocket  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"There's  the  money,  George,"  I  said.  "Now  you've 
got  just  time  enough  to  catch  that  nine  o'clock  train  for 
Boston." 

I  thought,  for  a  moment,  he  was  going  to  collapse  alto 
gether.  Then  he  pounced  upon  the  money,  counted  it 
with  fingers  that  trembled  so  he  could  scarcely  control 
them,  and  turned  to  me. 

320 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Ros — Ros — "  he  stammered.  "Where  did  you — how 
did  you — Great  God,  man!  I — I " 

"There!  there!"  I  interrupted.  "I  told  you  I  wasn't 
a  pauper  exactly.  Put  that  where  you  won't  lose  it  and 
clear  out.  You  haven't  any  time  to  argue." 

"But — but,  Ros,  I  hadn't  ought  to  take  this  from  you. 
I  don't  see  where  you  got  it  and " 

"That's  my  business.    Will  you  go?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ever  can  pay  you.  Lord  knows 
I'll  try  all  my  life,  but " 

I  seized  his  arm.  "George,"  I  urged,  impatiently, 
"you  fool,  don't  waste  time.  Get  that  train,  do  you  hear ! 
Those  bonds  must  be  in  that  safe  by  night.  Go!" 

The  mention  of  the  bonds  did  what  my  urging  had 
failed  to  do.  He  crammed  the  bills  into  his  pocket  book, 
thrust  the  latter  into  an  inside  pocket,  and  rushed  from 
the  room.  I  followed  him  as  far  as  the  outer  door.  He 
was  running  up  the  road  like  a  wild  man.  Sam  stared 
after  him. 

"For  mercy  sakes !"  he  cried,  "what's  the  matter  with 
the  boss?  Has  he  gone  loony?" 

"No,"  I  said,  turning  back  to  my  desk;  "he's  sane 
enough,  I  guess.  He's  after  the  train." 

"I  should  think  he  was  after  somethin'.  Did  you  see 
the  face  he  had  on  him?  If  he  ain't  crazy  then  you  and 
I  are,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

"All  right,  Sam,"  I  answered,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"perhaps  that's  it.  Perhaps  you  and  I  are  the  crazy  ones 
— one  of  us,  at  any  rate." 

All  that  day  I  worked  hard.  I  did  not  go  home  for 
lunch,  but  sent  Sam  over  to  Eldredge's  store  for  canned 
ham  and  crackers  which  I  ate  at  my  desk.  It  was  a 
fairly  busy  day,  fortunately,  and  I  could  always  find  some 
task  to  occupy  my  mind.  Lute  called,  at  two  o'clock,  to 

321 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

inquire  why  I  had  not  been  home  and  I  told  him  that 
Taylor  was  away  and  I  should  be  late  for  supper.  He 
departed,  shaking  his  head. 

"It's  just  as  I  said,"  he  declared,  "you're  workin* 
yourself  sick,  that's  what  you're  doin'.  You're  growin' 
foolish  in  the  head  about  work,  just  the  same  as  Do- 
rindy.  And  you  don't  need  to;  you've  got  money 
enough.  If  I  had  independent  means  same  as  you've 
got  I  tell  you  I'd  have  more  sense.  One  sick  invalid  in 
the  family's  enough,  ain't  it?" 

"No  doubt,  Lute,"  I  replied.  "At  all  events  you  must 
take  care  of  your  health.  Don't  you  work  yourself  sick." 

Lute  turned  on  me.  "I  try  not  to,"  he  said,  seriously ; 
"I  try  not  to,  but  it's  a  hard  job.  You  know  what  that 
wife  of  mine  is  cal'latin'  to  have  me  do  next?  Wash 
the  hen  house  window !  Yes  sir !  wash  the  window  so's 
the  hens  can  look  at  the  scenery,  I  presume  likely.  I  says 
to  her,  says  I,  'That  beats  any  foolishness  ever  I  heard ! 
Next  thing  you'll  want  me  to  put  down  a  carpet  in  the 
pigsty,  won't  ye  ?  You  would  if  we  kept  a  pig,  I  know.'  " 

"What  did  she  say  to  that?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  the  land  knows !  Somethin'  about  keepin'  one 
pig  bein'  trouble  enough.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention. 
But  I  shan't  wash  no  hen's  window,  now  you  can  bet 
on  that !" 

I  shouldn't  have  bet  much  on  it.  He  went  away,  to 
spend  the  next  hour  in  a  political  debate  at  Eldredge's, 
and  I  wrote  letters,  needlessly  long  ones.  Closing  time 
came  and  Sam  went  home,  leaving  me  to  lock  up.  The 
train  was  due  at  six-twenty,  but  it  was  nearly  seven  be 
fore  I  heard  it  whistle  at  the  station.  I  stood  at  the  front 
window  looking  up  the  road  and  waiting. 

I  waited  only  a  few  minutes,  but  they  were  long  ones. 
Then  I  saw  George  coming,  not  running  this  time,  but 

322 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

walking  with  rapid  strides.  The  crowd,  waiting  on  the 
post-office  steps,  shouted  at  him  but  he  paid  no  attention. 
He  sprang  up  the  steps  and  entered  the  bank.  I  stepped 
forward  and  seized  his  hand.  One  look  at  his  face  was 
enough ;  he  had  the  bonds,  I  knew  it. 

"Ros,  you  here !"  he  exclaimed.  "Is  it  all  right  ?  The 
examiner  hasn't  showed  up  ?" 

"No,"  I  answered.    "You  have  them,  George?" 

"Right  in  my  pocket,  thank  the  Lord — and  you,  Ros 
Paine.  Just  let  me  get  them  into  that  safe  and  I — 
What!  You're  not  going?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going.  I  congratulate  you,  George.  I  am 
as  glad  as  you  are.  Good  night." 

"But  Ros,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  it.  I  want  to  thank 
you  again.  I  never  shall  forget  .  .  .  Ros,  hold  on !" 

But  I  was  already  at  the  door.  "Good  night,"  I  called 
again,  and  went  out.  I  went  straight  home,  ate  supper, 
spent  a  half  hour  with  Mother,  and  then  went  to  my 
room  and  to  bed.  The  excitement  was  over,  for  good  or 
bad  the  thing  was  done  beyond  recall,  and  I  suddenly 
realized  that  I  was  very  tired.  I  fell  asleep  almost  im 
mediately  and  slept  soundly  until  morning.  I  was  too 
tired  even  to  think. 

I  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  during  the  fortnight 
which  followed  and  there  was  enough  to  think  about. 
The  lawyer  came  and  the  papers  were  signed  transfer 
ring  to  James  W.  Colton  the  strip  of  land  over  which 
Denboro  had  excited  itself  for  months.  Each  day  I  sat 
at  my  desk  expecting  Captain  Dean  and  a  delegation  of 
indignant  citizens  to  rush  in  and  denounce  me  as  a 
traitor  and  a  turncoat.  Every  time  Sam  Wheeler  met 
me  at  my  arrival  at  the  bank  I  dreaded  to  look  him  in  the 
face,  fearing  that  he  had  learned  of  my  action  and  was 
waiting  to  question  me  about  it.  In  spite  of  all  my; 

323 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

boasts  and  solemn  vows  not  to  permit  "Big  Jim"  Colton 
to  obtain  the  Shore  Lane  I  had  sold  it  to  him ;  he  could, 
and  it  was  to  be  expected  that  he  would,  close  it  at  once ; 
Denboro  would  make  its  just  demand  upon  me  for  ex 
planations,  explanations  which,  for  George  and  Nellie's 
sake,  I  could  not  give ;  and  after  that  the  deluge.  I  was 
sitting  over  a  powder  mine  and  I  braced  myself  for  the 
explosion. 

But  hours  and  days  passed  and  no  explosion  came. 
The  fishcarts  rattled  down  the  Lane  without  hindrance. 
Except  for  the  little  flurry  of  excitement  caused  by  the 
coming  wedding  at  the  Dean  homestead  the  village  life 
moved  on  its  lazy,  uneventful  jog.  I  could  not  under 
stand  it.  Why  did  Colton  delay?  He,  whose  one  object 
in  life  was  to  have  his  own  way,  had  it  once  more. 
Now  that  he  had  it  why  didn't  he  make  use  of  it  ?  Why 
was  he  holding  back?  Out  of  pity  for  me?  I  did  not 
believe  it.  Much  more  likely  that  his  daughter,  whose 
pride  I  had  dared  to  offend,  had  taken  the  affair  in  her 
hands  and  this  agony  of  suspense  was  a  preliminary  tor 
ture,  a  part  of  my  punishment  for  presuming  to  act  con 
trary  to  her  imperial  will. 

I  saw  her  occasionally,  although  I  tried  my  best  not 
to  do  so.  Once  we  passed  each  other  on  the  street  and 
I  stubbornly  kept  my  head  turned  in  the  other  direction. 
I  would  risk  no  more  looks  such  as  she  had  given  me 
when,  in  response  to  her  father's  would-be  humorous 
suggestion,  she  had  offered  me  her  "congratulations." 
Once,  too,  I  saw  her  on  the  bay.  I  was  aboard  the  Com 
fort,  having  just  anchored  after  a  short  cruise,  and  she 
went  by  in  the  canoe,  her  newest  plaything,  which  had 
arrived  by  freight  a  few  days  before.  A  canoe  in  Den 
boro  Bay  was  a  distinct  novelty ;  probably  not  since  the 
days  of  the  Indians  had  one  of  the  light,  graceful  little 

324 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

vessels  floated  there,  and  this  one  carried  much  comment 
among  the  old  salts  alongshore.  It  was  the  general  opin 
ion  that  it  was  no  craft  for  salt  water. 

"Them  things,"  said  Zeb  Kendrick,  sagely,  "are  all 
right  for  ponds  or  rivers  or  cricks  where  there  ain't  no 
tide  nor  sea  runnin'.  Float  anywheres  where  there's  a 
heavy  dew,  they  say  they  will.  But  no  darter  of  mine 
should  go  out  past  the  flats  in  one  of  'em  if  I  had  the 
say.  It's  too  big  a  risk." 

"Yup;  well,  Zeb,  you  ain't  got  the  say,  I  cal'late," 
observed  Thoph  Newcomb.  "And  it  takes  more'n  say 
to  get  a  skiff  like  that  one.  They  tell  me  the  metal  work 
aboard  her  is  silver-plated — silver  or  gold,  I  ain't  sure 
which.  Wonder  the  old  man  didn't  make  it  solid  gold 
while  he  was  about  it.  He'd  do  anything  for  that  girl 
if  she  asked  him  to.  And  she  sartin  does  handle  it  like 
a  bird!  She  went  by  my  dory  t'other  mornin'  and  I 
swan  to  man  if  she  and  the  canoe  together  wan't  a  sight 
for  sore  eyes.  I  set  and  watched  her  for  twenty  min 
utes." 

"Um — ye-es,"  grunted  Zeb.  "And  then  you  charged 
the  twenty  minutes  in  against  the  day's  work  quahaugin' 
you  was  supposed  to  be  doin'  for  me,  I  suppose." 

"You  can  take  out  the  ten  cents  when  you  pay  me — if 
you  ever  do,"  said  Newcomb,  gallantly.  "  'Twas  wuth 
more'n  that  just  to  look  at  her." 

The  time  had  been  when  I  should  have  agreed  with 
Thoph.  Sitting  in  the  canoe,  bare-headed,  her  hair  toss 
ing  in  the  breeze,  and  her  rounded  arms  swinging  the 
light  paddle,  she  was  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  doubtless. 
But  it  was  not  my  eyes  which  were  sore,  just  then.  I 
watched  her  for  a  moment  and  then  bent  over  my  engine. 
I  did  not  look  up  again  until  the  canoe  had  disappeared 
beyond  the  Colton  wharf. 

325 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  did  not  tell  Mother  that  I  had  sold  the  land.  I  in 
tended  to  do  so;  each  morning  I  rose  with  my  mind 
made  up  to  tell  her,  and  always  I  put  off  the  telling  until 
some  other  time.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  she  should  be 
told;  that  I  ought  to  tell  her  rather  than  to  have  her 
learn  the  news  from  others  as  she  certainly  would  at  al 
most  any  moment,  but  I  knew,  too,  that  even  to  her  I 
could  not  disclose  my  reason  for  selling.  I  must  keep 
George's  secret  as  he  had  kept  mine  and  take  the  conse 
quences  with  a  close  mouth  and  as  much  of  my  old  in 
difference  to  public  opinion  as  I  could  muster.  But  I 
realized,  only  too  well,  that  the  indifference  which  had 
once  been  real  was  now  only  pretense. 

I  have  said  very  little  about  George  Taylor's  gratitude 
to  me,  nor  his  appreciation  of  what  I  had  done  for  him. 
The  poor  fellow  would  have  talked  of  nothing  else  if 
I  had  let  him. 

"You've  saved  my  good  name  and  my  life,  Ros,"  he 
said,  over  and  over  again,  "and  not  only  my  life,  but 
what  is  a  mighty  sight  more  worth  saving,  Nellie's  hap 
piness.  I  don't  know  how  you  did  it ;  I  believe  yet  that 
there  is  something  behind  all  this,  that  you're  keeping 
something  from  me.  I  can't  see  how,  considering  all 
you've  said  to  me  about  your  not  being  well-off,  you  got 
that  money  so  quick.  But  I  know  you  don't  want  me 
to  talk  about  it." 

"I  don't,  George,"  I  said.  "All  I  ask  of  you  is  just 
to  forget  the  whole  thing." 

"Forget!  I  shan't  forget  while  I  live.  And,  as  soon 
as  ever  I  can  scrape  it  together,  I'll  pay  you  back  that 
loan." 

He  had  kept  his  word,  so  far  as  telling  Nellie  of  his 
financial  condition  was  concerned.  He  had  not,  of 
course,  told  her  of  his  use  of  the  bank  bonds,  but  he  had, 

326 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

as  he  said  he  would,  told  her  that,  in  all  probability,  he 
should  be  left  with  nothing  but  his  salary. 

"I  told  her  she  was  free  to  give  me  up,"  he  said,  with 
emotion,  "and  what  do  you  suppose  she  said  to  me? 
That  she  would  marry  me  if  she  knew  she  must  live  in 
the  poorhouse  the  rest  of  her  days.  Yes,  and  be  happy, 
so  long  as  we  could  be  together.  Well,  I  ain't  worth  it, 
and  I  told  her  so,  but  I'll  do  my  best  to  be  worth  some 
thing;  and  she  shan't  have  to  live  in  the  poorhouse 
either." 

"I  don't  think  there's  much  danger  of  that,"  I  said. 
"And,  by  the  way,  George,  your  Louisville  and  Trans 
continental  speculation  may  not  be  all  loss.  You  may 
save  something  out  of  it.  There  has  been  considerable 
trading  in  the  stock  during  the  past  two  days.  It  is  up 
half  a  point  already,  according  to  the  papers.  Did  you 
notice  it?" 

"Yes,  I  noticed  it.  But  I  tell  you,  Ros,  I  don't  care. 
I'll  be  glad  to  get  some  of  my  money  back,  of  course ; 
enough  to  pay  you  and  Cap'n  Elisha  anyhow;  but  I'm 
so  happy  to  think  that  Nellie  need  never  know  I  was  a 
thief  that  I  don't  seem  to  care  much  for  anything  else." 

Nellie  was  happy,  too.  She  came  to  me  and  told  me 
of  her  happiness.  It  was  all  on  George's  account,  of 
course. 

"The  poor  fellow  had  lost  money  in  investments,"  she 
said,  "and  he  thought  I  would  not  care  for  him  if  I 
found  out  he  was  poor.  He  isn't  poor,  of  course,  but  if 
he  was  it  would  make  no  difference  to  me.  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  him  without  that  dreadful  worried  look  on  his 
face  that  I — I — Oh,  you  must  think  me  awful  silly,  Ros- 
coe !  I  guess  I  am.  I  know  I  am.  But  you  are  the  only 
one  I  can  talk  to  in  this  way  about — about  him.  All  Ma 
wants  to  talk  about  now  is  the  wedding  and  clothes  and 

327 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

such,  and  Pa  always  treats  me  as  if  I  was  a  child.  I 
feel  almost  as  if  you  were  the  closest  friend  I  have,  and 
I  know  George  feels  the  same.  He  says  you  have  helped 
him  out  of  his  troubles.  I  was  sure  you  would;  that  is 
why  I  wrote  you  that  letter.  We  are  both  so  grateful 
to  you." 

Their  gratitude  and  the  knowledge  of  their  happiness 
were  my  sole  consolations  in  this  trying  time.  They 
kept  me  from  repenting  what  I  had  done.  It  was  hard 
not  to  repent.  If  Colton  had  only  made  known  his  pur 
chase  and  closed  the  Lane  at  once,  while  my  resolution 
was  red  hot,  I  could  have  faced  the  wrath  of  the  village 
and  its  inevitable  consequences  fairly  well,  I  believed; 
but  he  still  kept  silent  and  made  no  move.  I  saw  him 
once  or  twice;  on  one  occasion  he  came  into  the  bank, 
but  he  came  only  to  cash  a  check  and  did  not  mention 
the  subject  of  the  Lane.  He  did  not  look  well  to  me  and 
I  heard  him  tell  Taylor  something  about  his  "damned  di 
gestion." 

The  wedding  day  came.  I,  as  best  man,  was  busy  and 
thankful  for  the  bustle  and  responsibility.  They  occu 
pied  my  mind  and  kept  it  from  dwelling  on  other  things. 
George  worked  at  the  bank  until  noon,  getting  ready  to 
leave  the  institution  in  my  charge  and  that  of  Dick  Small, 
Henry's  brother,  who  had  reported  for  duty  that  morn 
ing.  The  marriage  was  to  take  place  at  half  past  one  in 
the  afternoon  and  the  bridal  couple  were  to  go  away  on 
the  three  o'clock  train.  The  honeymoon  trip  was  to  be 
a  brief  one,  only  a  week. 

Every  able-bodied  native  of  Denboro,  man,  woman 
and  child,  attended  that  wedding,  I  honestly  believe.  It 
was  the  best  sort  of  advertising  for  Olinda  Cahoon  and 
Simeon  Eldredge,  for  Olinda  had  made  the  gowns  worn 
by  the  bride  and  the  bride's  mother  and  a  number  of 

328 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  younger  female  guests,  and  Sim  had  sold  innumerable 
bottles  of  a  peculiarly  penetrating  perfume,  a  large  supply 
of  which  he  had  been  talked  into  purchasing  by  a  Bos 
ton  traveling  salesman. 

"Smell  it,  Ros,  do  ye?"  whispered  Sim,  grinning  tri 
umphantly  between  the  points  of  a  "stand-up"  collar. 
"I  give  you  my  word  when  that  slick-talkin'  drummer 
sold  me  all  that  perfumery,  I  thought  I  was  stuck  sure 
and  sartin.  But  then  I  had  an  idee.  Every  time  women 
folks  come  into  the  store  and  commenced  to  talk  about 
the  weddin'  I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  'Can't  sell  you  a  couple 
of  handkerchiefs  to  cry  on,  can  I,  Miss  So-and-so? 
Weddin's  are  great  places  for  sheddin'  tears,  you  know.' 
If  I  sold  'em  the  handkerchiefs  all  well  and  good; 
but  if  they  laughed  and  said  they  had  a  plenty,  I  got 
out  my  sample  bottle  of  'May  Lilock',  that's  the  name  of 
the  cologne,  and  asked  'em  to  smell  of  it.  'If  you  cry 
with  that  on  your  handkerchief,'  says  I,  'all  hands  will 
be  glad  to  have  you  do  it.  And  only  twenty  cents  a  bot 
tle!'*  You  wouldn't  believe  how  much  I  sold.  You  can 
smell  this  weddin'  afore  you  come  in  sight  of  the  house, 
can't  ye  now." 

You  could,  and  you  continued  to  smell  it  long  after 
you  left.  My  best  suit  reeked  of  "May  Lilac"  weeks 
later  when  I  took  it  out  of  the  closet. 

Dorinda  was  there,  garbed  in  rustling  black  alpaca, 
her  Sunday  gown  for  ten  years  at  least,  and  made  over 
and  "turned"  four  or  five  times.  Lute  was  on  deck,  cut 
away  coat,  "high  water"  trousers  and  purple  tie,  grand  to 
look  upon,  Alvin  Baker  and  Elnathan  Mullet  and 
Alonzo  Black  and  Thoph  Newcomb  and  Zeb  Kendrick 
were,  as  the  Item  would  say,  "among  those  present"  and 
if  Zeb's  black  cutaway  smelled  slightly  of  fish  it  was, 
at  least,  a  change  from  the  pervading  "May  Lilac." 

329 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Captain  Jed  strutted  pompously  about,  monarch  of  the 
day.  He  greeted  me  genially. 

"Hello,  Ros!"  he  said.  "You  out  here?  Thought 
you'd  be  busy  overhaulin'  George's  runnin'  riggin'  and 
makin'  sure  he  was  all  ready  to  heave  alongside  the  par 
son." 

"I  have  been,"  I  answered.  "I  am  on  my  way  back 
there  now." 

"All  right,  all  right.  Matildy  give  me  fits  for  not 
stayin'  upstairs  until  the  startin'  gun  was  fired,  but  I 
told  her  that,  between  her  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears 
and  Olindy  Cahoon  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  'twas 
no  place  for  a  male  man.  So  I  cleared  out  till  everything 
was  shipshape.  Say,  Ros,"  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoul 
der  and  bent  to  whisper  in  my  ear :  "Say,  Ros,"  he  said, 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you're  takin'  my  advice." 

".Taking  your  advice?"  I  repeated,  puzzled. 

"Yes;  about  not  playin'  with  fire,  you  know.  I  ain't 
heard  of  you  and  the  Princess  cruisin'  together  for  the 
past  week.  Thought,  'twas  best  not  to  be  too  familiar 
with  the  R'yal  family,  didn't  you?  That's  right,  that's 
right.  We  can't  take  chances.  We've  got  Denboro  and 
the  Shore  Lane  to  think  about,  ain't  we  ?" 

I  did  not  answer.  I  did  not  risk  looking  him  in  the 
face. 

"She's  liable  to  be  here  most  any  time,  I  cal'late,"  he 
went  on.  "Nellie  would  insist  on  invitin'  her.  And  I 
must  say  that,  to  be  honest,  the  present  she  sent  is  the 
finest  that's  come  aboard  yet.  The  only  thing  I've  got 
against  her  is  her  bad  judgment  in  pickin'  a  father.  If 
'twan't  for  that  I — hello !  Who — Why,  I  believe " 

There  was  a  commotion  among  the  guests  and  heads 
were  turned  toward  the  door.  The  captain  started  for 
ward.  I  started  back.  She  had  entered  the  room  and 

330 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  standing  there,  looking  about  her  with  smiling  in 
terest.  I  had  forgotten  that,  considering  her  friendship 
with  Nellie,  she  was  certain  to  be  invited. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  simple,  but  wonderful,  white 
gown  and  wore  a  bunch  of  lilies  of  the  valley  at  her 
bosom.  The  doorway  was  decorated  with  sprays  of 
honeysuckle  and  green  boughs  and  against  this  back 
ground  she  made  a  picture  that  brought  admiring  whis 
pers  from  the  people  near  me.  She  did  not  notice  me  at 
first  and  I  think  I  should  have  escaped  by  the  side  door 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Sim  Eldredge.  Simeon  was  just 
behind  me  and  he  darted  forward  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Why,  how  d'ye  do,  Miss  Colton!"  exclaimed  Sim. 
"You're  just  in  time,  ain't  ye!  Let  me  get  you  a  chair. 
Alvin,"  to  Mr.  Baker,  who,  perspiring  beneath  the  un 
accustomed  dignity  of  a  starched  shirt  front,  occupied  a 
front  seat,  "get  up  and  let  Miss  Colton  set  down." 

She  looked  in  Sim's  direction  and  saw  me,  standing 
beside  him.  I  had  no  opportunity  to  avoid  her  look  now, 
as  I  had  done  when  we  met  in  the  street.  She  saw  me 
and  I  could  not  turn  away.  I  bowed.  She  did  not  ac 
knowledge  the  bow.  She  looked  calmly  past  me,  through 
me.  I  saw,  or  fancied  that  I  saw,  astonishment  on  the 
faces  of  those  watching  us.  Captain  Jed  stepped  forward 
to  greet  her  and  I  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 
George  was  anxiously  awaiting  me. 

"Good  land,  Ros !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of  re 
lief,  "I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  you'd  skipped  out  and 
left  me  to  go  through  it  all  alone.  Say  something  to 
brace  me  up,  won't  you ;  I'm  scared  to  death.  Say,"  with 
a  wondering  glance  at  my  face,  "what's  struck  you? 
You  look  more  upset  than  I  feel." 

I  believe  I  ordered  him  not  to  be  an  idiot.  I  know  I 
did  not  "brace  him  up"  to  any  extent. 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  was  a  very  pretty  wedding.  At  least  every  one  said 
it  was,  although  they  say  the  same  of  all  weddings,  I 
am  told.  Personally  I  was  very  glad  when  it  was  over. 
Nellie  whispered  in  my  ear  as  I  offered  her  my  con-i 
gratulations,  "We  owe  it  all  to  you,  Roscoe."  George 
said  nothing,  but  the  look  he  gave  me  as  he  wrung  my 
hand  was  significant.  For  a  moment  I  forgot  myself, 
forgot  to  be  envious  of  those  to  whom  the  door  for 
happiness  was  not  shut.  After  all  I  had  opened  the  door 
for  these  two,  and  that  was  something. 

I  walked  as  far  as  the  corner  with  Lute  and  Dorinda. 
Dorinda's  eyes  were  red  and  her  husband  commented 
tvpini  it. 

"I  thought  a  weddin'  was  supposed  to  be  a  joyful  sort 
of  thing,"  he  said,  disgustedly.  "It's  usually  cal'lated 
to  be.  Yet  you  and  the  rest  of  the  women  folks  set  and 
cried  through  the  whole  of  it.  What  in  time  was  there 
to  cry  about?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Luther,"  replied  Dorinda  in,  for 
her,  an  unusually  tolerant  tone.  "Perhaps  it's  because 
we'se  all  been  young  once  and  can't  forget  it." 

•'I  don't  forget,  no  more'n  you  do.  I  ain't  so  old 
that  I  can't  remember  that  fur  back,  I  hope.  But  it  don't 
make  me  feel  like  cryin'." 

"Well,  all  right.  We  won't  argue  about  it.  Let's  be 
pleasant  as  we  can,  for  once." 

Now  that  is  where  Lute  should  have  taken  the  hint 
and  remained  silent.  At  least  he  should  have  changed 
the  subject.  But  he  was  hot  and  uncomfortable  and, 
I  suspect,  his  Sunday  shoes  were  tight.  He  per 
sisted. 

"Huh  \"  he  sniffed ;  "I  don't  see's  you've  given  me  no 
sensible  reason  for  cryin'.  If  I  recollect  right  you  didn't 
cry  at  your  own  weddin'." 

332 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

His  wife  turned  on  him.  She  looked  him  over  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Didn't  I?"  she  said,  tartly.  "Well,  maybe  not.  But 
if  I'd  realized  what  was  happenin'  to  me,  I  should." 

"Lute,"  said  I,  as  I  parted  from  them  at  the  corner,  "I 
am  going  to  the  bank  for  a  little  while.  Then  I  think 
I  shall  take  a  short  run  down  the  bay  in  the  Comfort. 
Did  you  fill  her  tank  with  gasolene  as  I  asked  you  to  ?" 

Lute  stopped  short.  "There!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  knew 
there  was  somethin'  I  forgot.  I'll  do  it  soon's  ever  I 
get  home." 

"When  you  get  home,"  observed  Dorinda,  firmly, 
"you'll  wash  that  henhouse  window." 

"Now,  Dorinda,  if  that  ain't  just  like  you!  Don't 
you  hear  Roscoe  askin'  me  about  that  gas?  I've  had 
that  gas  in  my  head  ever  since  yesterday." 

"Um-hm,"  wearily.  "Well,  I  shouldn't  think  a  little 
extry  more  or  less  would  make  much  difference.  Never 
mind,  don't  waste  any  more  on  me.  Get  the  gas  out  of 
your  head,  if  Roscoe  wants  you  to.  You  can  wash  the 
window  afterward." 

Lute's  parting  words  were  that  he  would  fill  that  tank 
the  very  first  thing.  If  he  had — but  there!  he  didn't. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  fog  had  come  almost  without  warning. 
When,  after  leaving  the  bank,  at  four  o'clock 
or  thereabouts,  I  walked  down  to  the  shore  and 
pulled  my  skiff  out  to  where  the  Comfort  lay  at  her 
moorings,  there  had  not  been  a  sign  of  it.  Now  I  was 
near  the  entrance  of  the  bay,  somewhere  abreast  Crow 
Point,  and  all  about  me  was  gray,  wet  blankness.  Sit 
ting  in  the  stern  of  the  little  launch  I  could  see  perhaps 
a  scant  ten  feet  beyond  the  bow,  no  more. 

It  was  the  sudden  shift  of  the  wind  which  had  brought 
the  fog.  When  I  left  the  boat  house  there  had  been  a 
light  westerly  breeze.  This  had  died  down  to  a  flat 
calm,  and  then  a  new  breeze  had  sprung  up  from  the 
south,  blowing  the  fog  before  it.  It  rolled  across  the 
water  as  swiftly  as  the  smoke  clouds  roll  from  a  freshly 
lighted  bonfire.  It  blotted  Denboro  from  sight  and' 
moved  across  the  bay;  the  long  stretch  of  beach  dis 
appeared;  the  Crow  Point  light  and  Ben  Small's  freshly 
whitewashed  dwellings  and  outbuildings  were  obliter 
ated.  In  ten  minutes  the  Comfort  was,  to  all  appear 
ances,  alone  on  a  shoreless  sea,  and  I  was  the  only  liv 
ing  creature  in  the  universe. 

I  was  not  troubled  or  alarmed.  I  had  been  out  in  too 
many  fogs  on  that  very  bay  to  mind  this  one.  It  was  a 
nuisance,  because  it  necessitated  cutting  short  my  voy 
age,  although  that  voyage  had  no  objective  point  and 
was  merely  an  aimless  cruise  in  search  of  solitude  and 

334 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

forgetfulness.  The  solitude  I  had  found,  the  forgetful- 
ness,  of  course,  I  had  not.  And  now,  when  the  solitude 
was  more  complete  than  ever,  surrounded  by  this  gray 
dismalness,  with  nothing  whatever  to  look  at  to  divert 
my  attention,  I  knew  I  should  be  more  bitterly  miser 
able  than  I  had  been  since  I  left  that  wedding.  And  I 
had  been  miserable  and  bitter  enough,  goodness  knows. 

Home  and  the  village,  which  I  had  been  so  anxious 
to  get  away  from,  now  looked  inviting  in  comparison.  I 
slowed  down  the  engine  and,  with  an  impatient  growl, 
bent  over  the  little  binnacle  to  look  at  the  compass  and 
get  my  bearings  before  pointing  the  Comfort's  nose  in 
the  direction  of  Denboro.  Then  my  growl  changed  to 
an  exclamation  of  disgust.  The  compass  was  not  there. 
I  knew  where  it  was.  It  was  on  my  work  bench  in  the 
boat  house,  where  I  had  put  it  myself,  having  carried  it 
there  to  replace  the  cracked  glass  in  its  top  with  a  new 
one.  I  had  forgotten  it  and  there  it  was. 

I  could  get  along  without  it,  of  course,  but  its  absence 
meant  delay  and  more  trouble.  In  a  general  way  I 
knew  my  whereabouts,  but  the  channel  was  winding  and 
the  tide  was  ebbing  rapidly.  I  should  be  obliged  to  run 
slowly — to  feel  my  way,  so  to  speak — and  I  might  not 
reach  home  until  late.  However,  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do,  so  I  put  the  helm  over  and  swung  the  launch 
about.  I  sat  in  the  stern  sheets,  listening  to  the  dreary 
"chock-chock"  of  the  propeller,  and  peering  forward 
into  the  mist.  The  prospect  was  as  cheerless  as  my  fu 
ture. 

Suddenly,  from  the  wet,  gray  blanket  ahead  came  a 
call.  It  was  a  good  way  off  when  I  first  heard  it,  a  call 
in  a  clear  voice,  a  feminine  voice  it  seemed  to  me. 

"Hello!" 

I  did  not  answer.     I  took  it  for  granted  that  the  call 

335 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  not  addressed  to  me.  It  came  probably,  from  the 
beach  at  the  Point,  and  might  be  Mrs.  Small  hailing  her 
husband,  though  it  did  not  sound  like  her  voice.  Sev 
eral  minutes  went  by  before  it  was  repeated.  Then  I 
heard  it  again  and  nearer. 

"Hello!     Hello-o-o!     Where  are  you?" 

That  was  not  Mrs.  Small,  certainly.  Unless  I  was 
away  off  in  my  reckoning  the  Point  was  at  my  right,  and 
the  voice  sounded  to  the  left.  It  must  come  from  some 
craft  afloat  in  the  bay,  though  before  the  fog  set  in  I 
had  seen  none. 

"Hello-o!     Hello,  the  motor  boat!" 

"Hello!"  I  answered.    "Boat  ahoy!    Where  are  you ?" 

"Here  I  am."  The  voice  was  nearer  still.  "Where 
are  you?  Don't  run  into  me." 

I  shifted  my  helm  just  a  bit  and  peered  ahead.  I 
could  see  nothing.  The  fog  was  thicker  than  ever;  if 
that  were  possible. 

"Where  are  you  ?"  repeated  the  unseen  voyager,  and  to 
my  dismay,  the  hail  came  from  the  right  this  time. 

"Don't  move!"  I  shouted.  "Stay  where  you  are.  I 
will  keep  shouting  .  .  .  Look  out!" 

Out  of  the  fog  to  starboard  a  long  dark  shadow  shot, 
silent  and  swift.  It  was  moving  directly  across  the  Com 
fort's  bow.  I  jammed  the  wheel  over  and  the  launch 
swung  off,  but  not  enough.  It  struck  the  canoe,  for  it 
was  a  canoe,  a  glancing  blow  and  heeled  it  down  to  the 
water's  edge.  There  was  a  scrape,  a  little  scream,  and 
two  hands  clutched  at  the  Comfort's  rail.  I  let  go  the 
wheel,  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  owner  of  the  hands 
about  the  waist.  The  canoe,  half  full  of  water,  disap 
peared  somewhere  astern.  I  swung  Mabel  Colton  aboard 
the  launch. 

I  think  she  spoke  first.     I  do  not  remember  saying 

336 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

anything,  and  I  think  it  must  have  been  at  least  a  full 
minute  before  either  of  us  broke  the  silence.  She  lay,  or 
sat,  upon  the  cockpit  floor,  her  shoulders  supported  by 
the  bench  surrounding  it,  just  where  I  had  placed  her 
after  lifting  her  over  the  rail.  I  knelt  beside  her,  star 
ing  as  if  she  were  a  spirit  instead  of  a  real,  and  rather 
damp,  young  lady.  And  she  stared  at  me.  When  she 
spoke  her  words  were  an  echo  of  my  thought. 

"It  is  you?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes." 

"This— this  is  the  third  time." 

"Yes." 

Another  interval  of  silence.  Then  she  spoke  once 
more  and  her  tone  was  one  expressing  intense  convic 
tion. 

"This,"  she  said,  slowly,  "is  getting  to  be  positively 
ridiculous." 

I  did  not  deny  it.     I  said  nothing. 

She  sat  up.    "My  canoe — "  she  faltered. 

The  mention  of  the  canoe  brought  me  partially  to  my 
senses.  I  realized  that  I  was  kneeling  on  the  deck  of  a 
launch  that  was  pounding  its  way  through  the  fog  with 
no  one  at  the  helm.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  seized  the 
wheel.  That  my  doing  so  would  be  of  little  use,  con 
sidering  that  the  Comfort  might  be  headed  almost  any 
where  by  this  time,  did  not  occur  to  me.  Miss  Col- 
ton  remained  where  she  was. 

"My  canoe — "  she  repeated. 

I  was  awakening  rapidly.  I  looked  out  into  the  mist 
and  shook  my  head. 

"I  am  afraid  your  canoe  has  gone,"  I  said.  And  then, 
as  the  thought  occurred  to  me  for  the  first  time,  "You're 
not  hurt,  I  hope?  I  dragged  you  aboard  here  rather 
roughly,  I  am  afraid." 

337 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"No,  I  am  not  hurt.    But — where  are  we?" 

"I  don't  know,  exactly.  Somewhere  near  the  mouth 
of  the  bay,  that  is  all  I  can  be  sure  of.  You  are  cer 
tain  you  are  not  hurt  ?  You  must  be  wet  through." 

She  got  upon  her  feet  and,  leaning  over  the  Comfort's 
rail,  gazed  about  her. 

"I  am  all  right,"  she  answered.  "But  don't  you  know 
where  you  are?" 

"Before  the  fog  caught  me  I  was  nearly  abreast  the 
Point.  I  was  running  at  half  speed  up  the  channel  when 
I  heard  your  hail.  Where  were  you?" 

"I  was  just  beyond  your  boat  house,  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  bay.  I  had  come  out  for  a  paddle  before  dinner. 
I  did  not  notice  the  fog  until  it  was  all  about  me.  Then 
I  think  I  must  have  been  bewildered.  I  thought  I  was 
going  in  the  direction  of  home,  but  I  could  not  have 
been — not  if  you  were  abreast  the  Point.  I  must  have 
been  going  directly  out  to  sea." 

She  shivered. 

"You  are  wet,"  I  said,  anxiously.  "There  is  a  storm 
coat  of  mine  in  the  locker  forward.  Won't  you  put  that 
about  your  shoulders?  It  may  prevent  your  taking 
cold." 

"No,  thank  you.  I  am  not  wet,  at  all;  or,  at  least, 
only  my  feet  and  the  bottom  of  my  skirt.  I  shall  not 
take  cold." 

"But " 

"Please  don't  worry.  I  am  all  right,  or  shall  be  as 
soon  as  I  get  home." 

"I  am  very  sorry  about  your  canoe." 

"It  doesn't  matter." 

Her  answers  were  short  now.  There  was  a  different 
note  in  her  voice.  I  knew  the  reason  of  the  change. 
Now  that  the  shock  and  the  surprise  of  our  meeting  were 

338 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

over  she  and  I  were  resuming  our  old  positions.  She 
was  realizing  that  her  companion  was  the  "common  fel 
low"  whose  "charming  and  cultivated  socLty"  was  not 
necessary  to  her  happiness,  the  fellow  to  whom  she  had 
scornfully  offered  "congratulations"  and  whom  she  had 
cut  dead  at  the  Deans'  that  very  afternoon.  I  made  no 
more  suggestions  and  expressed  no  more  sympathy. 

"I  will  take  you  home  at  once,"  I  said,  curtly. 

"If  you  please." 

That  ended  conversation  for  the  time.  She  seated 
herself  on  the  bench  near  the  forward  end  of  the  cock 
pit  and  kept  her  head  turned  away  from  me.  I,  with  one 
hand  upon  the  wheel — a  useless  procedure,  for  I  had  no 
idea  where  the  launch  might  be  headed — looked  over  the 
rail  and  listened  to  the  slow  and  regular  beat  of  the  en 
gine.  Suddenly  the  beat  grew  less  regular.  The  engine 
barked,  hiccoughed,  barked  again  but  more  faintly,  and 
then  stopped  altogether. 

I  knew  what  was  the  matter.  Before  I  reached  the 
gasolene  tank  and  unscrewed  the  little  cover  I  knew  it. 
I  thrust  in  the  gauge  stick  and  heard  it  strike  bottom, 
drew  it  out  and  found  it,  as  I  expected,  dry  to  the  very 
tip.  I  had  trusted,  like  an  imbecile,  to  Lute.  Lute  had 
promised  to  fill  that  tank  "the  very  first  thing,"  and  he 
had  not  'kept  his  promise. 

There  was  not  a  pint  of  gasolene  aboard  the  Comfort; 
and  it  would  be  my  cheerful  duty  to  inform  my  passen 
ger  of  the  fact! 

She  did  not  wait  for  me  to  break  the  news.  She  saw 
me  standing  there,  holding  the  gauge  stick  in  my  hand, 
and  she  asked  the  natural  question. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  demanded. 

I  swallowed  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Rogers  which  was  on 
the  tip  of  my  tongue. 

339 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  am  sorry,"  I  stammered,  "but — but — well,  we  are  in 
trouble,  I  am  afraid." 

"In  trouble?"  she  said  coldly.  "What  trouble  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"Yes.  The  fact  is,  we  have  run  out  of  gasolene.  I 
told  my  man,  Rogers,  to  fill  the  tank  and  he  hasn't  done 
it." 

She  leaned  forward  to  look  at  me. 

"Hasn't  done  it?"  she  repeated.  "You  mean — why, 
this  boat  cannot  go  without  gasolene,  can  it?" 

"Not  very  well;  no." 

"Then — then  what  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"Anchor  and  wait,  if  I  can." 

"Wait !  But  I  don't  wish  to  wait.  I  wish  to  be  taken 
home,  at  once." 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  am  afraid  that  is  impossible." 

I  was  on  my  way  forward  to  where  the  anchor  lay,  in 
the  bow.  She  rose  and  stepped  in  front  of  me. 

"Mr.  Paine." 

"Yes,  Miss  Colton." 

"I  tell  you  I  do  not  wish  you  to  anchor  this  boat." 

"I  am  sorry  but  it  is  the  only  thing  to  do,  under  the 
circumstances." 

"I  do  not  wish  it.  Stop!  I  tell  you  I  will  not  have 
you  anchor." 

"Miss  Colton,  we  must  do  one  of  two  things,  either  an 
chor  or  drift.  And  if  we  drift  I  cannot  tell  you  where 
we  may  be  carried." 

"I  don't  care." 

"I  do." 

"Yes,"  with  scornful  emphasis,  "I  presume  you  do." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean — never  mind  what  I  mean." 

"But,  as  I  have  explained  to  you,  the  gasolene " 

340 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Nonsense!  Do  you  suppose  I  believe  that  ridiculous 
story  ?" 

"Believe  it?"  I  gazed  at  her  uncomprehendingly. 
"Believe  it,"  I  repeated.  "Don't  you  believe  it?" 

"No." 

"Miss  Colton,  do  you  mean  that  you  think  I  am  not 
telling  you  the  truth?  That  I  am  lying?" 

"Well,"  fiercely,  "and  if  I  did,  would  it  be  so  aston 
ishing,  considering — considering  the  truths  you  have 
told  me  before?" 

I  made  no  further  effort  to  pass  her.  Instead  I 
stepped  back. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  I  demanded,  with  delib 
erate  sarcasm,  "what  possible  reason  you  think  I  might 
have  for  wishing  to  keep  you  here?" 

"I  shall  tell  you  nothing.  And — and  I  will  not  have 
you  anchor  this  boat." 

"Is  it  your  desire  then  that  we  drift — the  Lord  knows 
where?" 

"I  desire  you  to  start  that  engine  and  take  me  home." 

"I  cannot  start  the  engine." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated.  Then  I  did  what  was  per 
haps  the  most  senseless  thing  I  ever  did  in  all  my  life, 
which  is  saying  considerable.  I  turned  my  back  on  her 
and  on  the  anchor,  and  seated  myself  once  more  in  the 
stern  sheets.  And  we  drifted. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  drifted  before  I  re 
gained  my  sanity.  It  must  have  been  a  good  while. 
When  I  first  returned  to  my  seat  by  the  wheel  it  was 
with  the  firm  determination  to  allow  the  Comfort  to 
drift  into  the  bottomless  pit  rather  than  to  stir  hand  or 
foot  to  prevent  it.  In  fact  that  particular  port  looked 
rather  inviting  than  otherwise.  Any  torments  it  might 

341 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

have  in  store  could  not  be  worse  than  those  I  had  under 
gone  because  of  this  girl.  I  sat,  silent,  with  my  gaze 
fixed  upon  the  motionless  engine.  I  heard  my  passen 
ger  move  once  or  twice,  but  I  did  not  look  at  her. 

What  brought  me  to  my  senses  was  the  boat  hook, 
which  had  been  lying  on  the  seat  beside  me,  suddenly 
falling  to  the  floor.  I  started  and  looked  over  the  rail. 
The  water,  as  much  of  it  as  I  could  see  through  the  fog, 
was  no  longer  flat  and  calm.  There  were  waves  all 
about  us,  not  big  ones,  but  waves  nevertheless,  long, 
regular  swells  in  the  trough  of  which  the  Comfort  rocked 
lazily.  There  was  no  wind  to  kick  up  a  sea.  This  was 
a  ground  swell,  such  as  never  moved  in  Denboro  Bay. 
While  I  sat  there  like  an  idiot  the  tide  had  carried  us 
out  beyond  the  Point. 

With  an  exclamation  I  sprang  up  and  hurried  for 
ward.  Miss  Colton  was  sitting  where  I  had  left  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I  am  going  to  anchor,"  I  said. 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  anchor." 

"I  can't  help  that.  I  must.  Please  stand  aside,  Miss 
Colton." 

She  tried  to  prevent  me,  but  I  pushed  her  away,  not 
too  gently  I  am  afraid,  and  clambered  forward  to  the 
bow,  where  the  anchor  lay  upon  its  coil  of  line.  I  threw 
it  overboard.  The  line  ran  out  to  its  very  end  and  I 
waited  expectantly  for  the  jerk  which  would  tell  me 
that  the  anchor  had  caught  and  was  holding.  But  no 
jerk  came.  Reaching  over  the  bow  I  tried  the  line.  It 
was  taut  and  heavy.  Then  I  knew  approximately  how 
far  we  had  drifted.  We  were  beyond  the  shoal  making 
out  from  Crow  Point  over  the  deep  water  beyond.  My 
anchor  rope  was  not  long  enough  to  reach  the  bottom. 

342 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

Still  I  was  not  alarmed.  I  was  provoked  at  my  own 
stubbornness  which  had  gotten  us  into  this  predicament 
and  more  angry  than  ever  at  the  person  who  was  the 
cause  of  that  stubbornness.  But  I  was  not  frightened. 
There  were  other  shoals  further  out  and  I  left  the  an- 
*  chor  as  it  was,  hoping  that  it  might  catch  and  hold  on 
one  of  them.  I  went  back  once  more  to  my  seat  by  the 
wheel. 

Then  followed  another  interval  of  silence  and  inac 
tion.  From  astern  and  a  good  way  off  sounded  the 
notes  of  a  bell.  From  the  opposite  direction  came  a  low 
groan,  indescribably  mournful  and  lonely. 

My  passenger  heard  it  and  spoke. 

"What  was  that?"  she  demanded,  in  a  startled  tone. 

"The  fog  horn  at  Mackerel  Island,  the  island  at  the 
mouth  of  Wellmouth  harbor,"  I  answered. 

"And  that  bell?" 

"That  is  the  fog  bell  at  Crow  Point." 

"At  Crow  Point?  Why,  it  can't  be!  Crow  Point  is 
in  Denboro  Bay,  and  that  bell  is  a  long  way  behind  us." 

"Yes.  We  are  a  mile  or  more  outside  the  Point  now. 
The  tide  has  carried  us  out." 

"Carried  us —    Do  you  mean  that  we  are  out  at  sea  ?" 

"Not  at  sea  exactly.     We  are  in  Cape  Cod  Bay." 

"But — why,  we  are  still  drifting,  aren't  we  ?  I  thought 
you  had  anchored." 

"I  tried  to,  but  I  was  too  late.  The  water  is  too  deep 
here  for  the  anchor  to  reach  bottom." 

"But — but  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Nothing  at  present.  There  is  nothing  I  can  do.  Sit 
down,  please." 

"Nothing !  Nothing !  Do  you  mean  that  you  propose 
to  sit  there  and  let  us  be  carried  out  to  sea  ?" 

"We  shall  not  be  carried   far.     There  is   no   wind. 

343 


When  the  tide  turns  we  shall  probably  be  carried  in 
again." 

"But,"  sharply,  "why  don't  you  do  something?  Can't 
you  row?" 

"I  have  only  one  oar." 

"But  you  must  do  something.  You  must.  I — I — It 
is  late !  it  is  growing  dark  !  My  people !  What  will  they 
think?" 

"I  am  sorry,  Miss  Colton." 

"Sorry !  You  are  not  sorry !  If  you  were  you  would 
do  something,  instead  of  sitting  there  as — as  if  you  en 
joyed  it.  I  believe  you  do  enjoy  it.  You  are  doing  it 
purposely  to — to " 

"To  what,  pray?" 

"Never  mind." 

"But  I  do  mind.  You  have  accused  me  of  lying,  Miss 
Colton,  and  of  keeping  you  here  purposely.  What  do 
you  mean  by  it?" 

"I  mean  that — that —  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean ! 
You  hate  me  and  you  hate  my  father,  and  you  are  trying 
to — to  punish  us  for — for " 

I  had  heard  enough.  I  did  not  propose  to  hear  any 
more. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  interrupted,  sternly,  "stop!  this  is 
silly.  I  assure  you  that  I  am  as  anxious  to  end  this — 
excursion — of  ours  as  you  can  be.  Your  being  afloat 
in  Denboro  Bay  in  a  canoe  was  your  own  recklessness 
and  not  my  fault.  Neither  was  it  my  fault  that  the 
launch  collided  with  your  canoe.  I  called  to  you  not  to 
move,  but  to  stay  where  you  were.  And,  moreover,  if 
you  had  permitted  me  to  anchor  when  I  first  attempted 
to  do  so  we  should  not  be  in  this  scrape.  I  shall  get  you 
out  of  it  just  as  quick  as  I  can.  In  order  that  I  may  do 
so  I  shall  expect  you  to  stop  behaving  like  a  child  and 

344 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

do  as  I  tell  you.    Sit  down  on  that  bench  and  keep  still." 

This  had  the  effect  I  meant  it  to.  She  looked  at  me 
as  if  she  could  not  believe  she  had  heard  aright.  But 
I  met  her  gaze  squarely,  and,  with  a  shudder  of  dis 
gust,  or  fear,  I  do  not  know  which,  she  turned  her  back 
upon  me  and  was  silent.  I  went  forward  to  the  cuddy, 
found  the  tin  horn  which,  until  that  moment,  I  had  for 
gotten,  and,  returning,  blew  strident  blasts  upon  it  at  in 
tervals.  There  was  little  danger  of  other  craft  being 
in  our  vicinity,  but  I  was  neglecting  no  precautions. 

The  bell  at  Crow  Point  sounded  further  and  further 
astern.  The  twilight  changed  to  dusk  and  the  dusk  to 
darkness.  The  fog  was  as  thick  as  ever.  It  was  nearly 
time  for  the  tide  to  turn. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  jerk;  the  launch  quivered,  and 
swung  about. 

"Oh !  what  was  that  ?"  demanded  Miss  Colton,  shortly. 

"The  anchor,"  I  answered.  "We  have  reached  the 
outer  shoal." 

"And,"  hesitatingly,  "shall  we  stay  here?" 

"Yes;  unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

"Unless     .     .     .     Hush !  listen !" 

There  was  an  odd  rushing  sound  from  the  darkness 
astern,  a  sort  of  hiss  and  low,  watery  roar.  I  rushed 
to  the  bow  and  dragged  the  anchor  inboard  with  all  my 
strength.  Then  I  ran  to  the  wheel.  I  had  scarcely 
reached  it  when  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  arm. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  young  lady,  her  voice  quiver 
ing.  "Oh,  what  is  it?" 

"Wind,"  I  answered.  "There  is  a  squall  coming.  Sit 
down !  Sit  down !" 

"But— but " 

"Sit  down." 

345 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

She  hesitated  and  I  seized  her  arm  and  forced  her 
down  upon  the  bench  beside  me.  I  threw  the  helm  over. 
The  rushing  sound  grew  nearer.  Then  came  a  blast  of 
wind  which  sent  my  cap  flying  overboard  and  the  fog 
disappeared  as  if  it  had  been  a  cloth  snatched  away  by 
a  mighty  hand.  Above  us  was  a  black  sky,  with  stars 
showing  here  and  there  between  flying  clouds,  and  about 
us  were  the  waves,  already  breaking  into  foam  upon 
the  shoal. 

The  Comfort  rocked  and  wallowed  in  the  trough.  We 
were  being  driven  by  the  wind  away  from  the  shoal,  but 
not  fast  enough.  Somehow  or  other  we  must  get  out  of 
that  dangerous  neighborhood.  I  turned  to  my  compan 
ion.  She  had  not  spoken  since  the  squall  came. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  "give  me  your  hands." 

I  presume  she  could  not  imagine  what  I  meant.  No 
doubt,  too,  my  tone  and  the  request  frightened  her.  She 
hesitated.  I  seized  her  hands  and  placed  them  on  the 
spokes  of  the  wheel. 

"I  want  you  to  hold  that  wheel  just  as  it  is,"  I  com 
manded.  "I  must  go  forward  and  get  steerage  way  on 
this  craft  somehow,  or  we  shall  capsize.  Can  you  hold 
it,  do  you  think?" 

"Yes;  I— I  think  so." 

"You  must." 

I  left  her,  went  to  the  cuddy  and  dragged  out  the 
small  canvas  tarpaulin  which  I  used  to  cover  the  engine 
at  night.  With  this,  a  cod  line,  the  boathook,  and  my 
one  oar  I  improvised  a  sort  of  jury  rig  which  I  tied 
erect  at  the  forward  end  of  the  cockpit.  Then  I  went 
aft  and  took  the  wheel  again.  The  tarpaulin  made  a 
poor  apology  for  a  sail,  but  I  hoped  it  might  answer  the 
purpose  well  enough  to  keep  the  Comfort  before  the 
wind. 

346 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  did.  Tacking  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question, 
but  with  the  gale  astern  the  launch  answered  her  helm 
and  slid  over  the  waves  instead  of  rolling  between  them. 
I  sighed  in  relief.  Then  I  remembered  my  passenger 
sitting  silent  beside  me.  She  did  not  deserve  considera 
tion,  but  I  vouchsafed  a  word  of  encouragement. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  I  said.  "It  is  only  a  stiff  breeze 
and  this  boat  is  seaworthy.  We  are  all  right  now." 

"But  why  did  you  take  up  the  anchor  ?" 

By  way  of  answer  I  pointed  aft  over  the  stern.  In 
the  darkness  the  froth  of  the  shoal  gleamed  white.  I 
felt  her  shudder  as  she  looked. 

"Where  are  we  going  now — please?"  she  asked,  a 
moment  later. 

"We  are  headed  for  the  Wellmouth  shore.  It  is  the 
only  direction  we  can  take.  If  this  wind  holds  we  shall 
land  in  a  few  hours.  It  is  all  deep  water  now.  There 
are  no  more  shoals." 

"But,"  anxiously,  "can  we  land  when  we  reach  there? 
Isn't  it  a  bad  coast?" 

"Not  very.  If  we  can  make  Mackerel  Island  we  may 
be  able  to  get  ashore  at  the  light  or  anchor  in  the  lee 
of  the  land.  It  is  all  right,  Miss  Colton.  I  am  telling 
you  the  truth.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  I  really 
am." 

I  could  not  help  adding  the  last  bit  of  sarcasm.  She 
understood.  She  drew  away  on  the  bench  and  asked  no 
more  questions. 

On  drove  the  Comfort.  The  first  fierceness  of  the 
squall  had  passed  and  it  was  now  merely  what  I  had 
called  it,  a  stiff  breeze.  Out  here  in  the  middle  of  the 
bay  the  waves  were  higher  and  we  shipped  some  spray 
over  the  quarter.  The  air  was  sharp  and  the  chill 
penetrated  even  my  thick  jacket. 

347 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"You  must  be  cold,"  I  said.     "Aren't  you?" 

"No." 

"But  you  must  be.    Take  the  wheel  a  moment." 

"I  am  not  cold." 

"Take  the  wheel." 

She  took  it.  I  groped  about  in  the  cuddy  again,  got 
out  my  storm  coat,  an  old  pea  jacket  which  I  wore  on 
gunning  expeditions,  and  brought  it  to  her. 

"Slip  this  on,"  I  said. 

"I  do  not  care  for  it." 

"Put  it  on." 

"Mr.  Paine,"  haughtily,  "I  tell  you    ....    oh !" 

I  had  wrapped  the  coat  about  her  shoulders  and  fast 
ened  the  upper  button. 

"Now  sit  down  on  the  deck  here,"  I  ordered.  "Here, 
by  my  feet.  You  will  be  below  the  rail  there  and  out 
of  the  wind." 

To  my  surprise  she  obeyed  orders,  this  time  without 
even  a  protest.  I  smiled  grimly.  To  see  her  obey  suited 
my  humor.  It  served  her  right.  I  enjoyed  ordering 
her  about  as  if  I  were  mate  of  an  old-time  clipper  and 
she  a  foremast  hand.  She  had  insulted  me  once  too 
often  and  she  should  pay  for  it.  Out  here  social  posi 
tion  and  wealth  and  family  pride  counted  for  nothing. 
Here  I  was  absolute  master  of  the  situation  and  she 
knew  it.  All  her  life  she  would  remember  it,  the  humili 
ation  of  being  absolutely  dependent  upon  me  for  life  and 
safety  and  warmth.  I  looked  down  at  her  crouching  at 
my  feet,  and  then  away  over  the  black  water.  The 
Comfort  climbed  wave  after  wave. 

"Mr.  Paine." 

The  tone  was  very  low  but  I  heard  it. 

I  came  out  of  my  waking  dream — it  was  not  a  pleasant 
one — and  answered. 

348 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Yes?"  I  said. 

"Where  are  we?" 

"We  are  making  fair  progress,  everything  considered. 
Are  you  warmer  now  ?" 

-Yes— thank  you." 

She  said  no  more,  nor  did  I.  Except  for  the  splash 
of  the  spray  and  the  flapping  of  the  loose  ends  of  the 
tarpaulin,  it  was  quiet  aboard  the  Comfort.  Quiet,  ex 
cept  for  an  odd  sound  in  the  shadow  by  my  knee.  I 
stooped  and  listened 

"Miss  Colton,"  f  said,  quickly.    "What  is  it?" 

No  answer.    Yet  I  heard  the  sound  again. 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Colton?"  I  repeated.  "What  is  the 
matter?  Why  are  you  crying?" 

"I — I  am  not  crying,"  indignantly.  And  on  the  very- 
heels  of  the  denial  came  a  stifled  sob. 

That  sob  went  to  my  heart.  A  great  lump  rose  in  my 
own  throat.  My  brain  seemed  to  be  turning  topsy-turvy. 
A  moment  before  it  had  been  filled  with  bitterness  and 
resentment  and  vengeful  thoughts.  Now  these  had  van 
ished  and  in  their  place  came  crowding  other  and  vastly 
different  feelings.  She  was  crying,  sobbing  there  alone 
in  the  dark  at  my  feet.  And  I  had  treated  her  like  a 
brute ! 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  pleaded,  in  an  agony  of  repentance, 
"what  is  it?  Is  there  anything  I  can  do?  Are  you  still 
cold  ?  Take  this  other  coat,  the  one  I  have  on.  I  don't 
need  it,  really.  I  am  quite  warm." 

"I  arn  not  cold." 

"But " 

"Oh,  please  don't  speak  to  me!    Please!" 

I  closed  my  lips  tightly  and  clutched  the  wheel  with 
both  hands.  Oh,  I  had  been  a  brute,  a  brute !  I  should 
have  known  that  she  was  not  herself,  that  she  was 

349 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

frightened  and  nervous  and  distraught.  I  should  have 
been  considerate  and  forbearing.  I  should  have  remem 
bered  that  she  was  only  a  girl,  hysterical  and  weak. 
Instead  I  had 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  begged,  "please  don't.    Please !" 

No  answer;  only  another  sob.     I  tried  again. 

"I  have  been  a  cad,"  I  cried.  "I  have  treated  you 
abominably.  I  don't  expect  you  to  forgive  me,  but— — " 

"I — I  am  so  frightened !"  The  confession  was  a  solil 
oquy,  I  think;  not  addressed  to  me  at  all.  But  I  heard 
it  and  forgot  everything  else.  I  let  go  of  the  wheel  alto 
gether  and  bent  over  her,  both  hands  outstretched,  to — 
the  Lord  knows  what.  I  was  not  responsible  just  then. 

But  while  I  still  hesitated,  while  my  hands  were  still 
in  the  air  above  her,  before  they  touched  her,  I  was 
brought  back  to  sanity  with  a  rude  shock.  A  barrel  or 
so  of  cold  water  came  pouring  over  the  rail  and  drenched 
us  both.  The  launch,  being  left  without  a  helmsman, 
had  swung  into  the  trough  of  the  sea  and  this  was  the 
result. 

I  am  not  really  sure  what  happened  in  the  next  few 
seconds.  I  must,  I  imagine,  have  seized  the  wheel  with 
one  hand  and  my  passenger  with  the  other.  At  any 
rate,  when  the  smoke,  so  to  speak,  had  cleared,  the  Com 
fort  was  headed  on  her  old  course  once  more,  I  was 
back  on  the  bench  by  the  wheel,  Mabel  Colton's  head 
was  on  my  shoulder,  and  I  was  telling  her  over  and 
over  that  it  was  all  right  now,  there  was  no  danger,  we 
were  perfectly  safe,  and  various  inanities  of  that  sort. 

She  was  breathing  quickly,  but  she  sobbed  no  more. 
I  was  glad  of  that. 

"You  are  sure  you  are  not  hurt?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 

"Yes — yes,  I  think  so,"  she  answered,  faintly.  "What 
was  it?  I — I  thought  we  were  sinking." 

350 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"So  did  I  for  a  moment.  It  was  all  my  fault,  as  usual. 
I  let  go  the  wheel." 

"Did  you?     Why?" 

"I  don't  know  why."  This  was  untrue;  I  did.  "But 
you-  are  wet  through,"  I  added,  remorsefully.  "And  I 
haven't  another  dry  wrap  aboard." 

"Never  mind.    You  are  as  wet  as  I  am." 

"Yes,  but  /  don't  mind.    I  am  used  to  it.    But  you — '* 

"I  am  all  right.  I  was  a  little  faint,  at  first,  I  think, 
but  I  am  better  now."  She  raised  her  head  and  sat  up. 
"Where  are  we?"  she  asked. 

"We  are  within  a  few  miles  of  the  Wellmouth  shore. 
That  light  ahead  is  the  Mackerel  Island  light.  We  shall 
be  there  in  a  little  while.  The  danger  is  almost  over." 

She  shivered. 

"You  are  cold !"  I  cried.  "Of  course  you  are !  If  I 
only  had  another  coat  or  something.  It  is  all  my 
fault." 

"Don't  say  that,"  reproachfully.  "Where  should  I 
have  been  if  it  had  not  been  for  you?  I  was  paddling 
directly  out  toward  those  dreadful  shoals.  Then  you 
came,  just  as  you  have  done  before,  and  saved  me. 
And,"  in  a  wondering  whisper,  "I  knew  it  was  you !" 

I  did  not  ask  her  what  she  meant ;  I  seemed  to  under 
stand  perfectly. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"But  I  tell  you  I  knew  it  was  you,"  she  repeated.  "I 
did  not  know — I  did  not  suspect  until  the  moment  before 
the  collision,  before  the  launch  came  in  sight — then,  all 
at  once,  I  knew  " 

"Yes.    That  was  when  I  knew." 

She  turned  and  gazed  at  me. 

"You  knew?"  she  gasped,  hysterically.  "Why — what 
do  you  mean?" 

351 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  can't  explain  it.  Just  before  your  canoe  broke 
through  the  fog  I  knew,  that  is  all." 

It  was  unexplainable,  but  it  was  true.  Call  it  telepathy 
or  what  you  will — I  do  not  know  what  it  was — I  am  cer 
tain  only  that,  although  I  had  not  recognized  her  voice, 
I  had  suddenly  known  who  it  was  that  would  come  to 
me  out  of  the  fog.  And  she,  too,  had  known !  I  felt 
again,  with  an  almost  superstitious  thrill,  that  feeling  of 
helplessness  which  had  come  over  me  that  day  of  the 
fishing  excursion  when  she  rode  through  the  bushes  to 
my  side.  It  was  as  if  she  and  I  were  puppets  in  the 
hands  of  some  Power  which  was  amusing  itself  at  our 
expense  and  would  have  its  way,  no  matter  how  we 
might  fight  against  it. 

She  spoke  as  if  she  were  struggling  to  awaken  from 
a  dream. 

"But  it  can't  be,"  she  protested.  "It  is  impossible. 
Why  should  you  and  I " 

"I  don't  know     .     .     ,    Unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

I  closed  my  lips  on  the  words  that  were  on  the  tip  of 
my  tongue.  That  reason  was  more  impossible  than  all 
else. 

"Nothing,"  I  stammered. 

She  did  not  repeat  her  question.  I  saw  her  face,  a 
dainty  silhouette  against  the  foam  alongside,  turned  away 
from  me.  I  gazed  at  it  until  I  dared  gaze  no  longer. 
Was  I  losing  my  senses  altogether  ?  I — Ros  Paine — the 
man  whose  very  name  was  not  his  own?  I  must  not 
think  such  thoughts.  I  scarcely  dared  trust  myself  to 
speak  and  yet  I  knew  that  I  must.  This  silence  was  too 
dangerous.  I  took  refuge  in  a  commonplace. 

"We  are  getting  into  smoother  water,"  I  said.  "It  is 
not  as  rough  as  it  was,  do  you  think?" 

352 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

If  she  heard  the  remark  she  ignored  it.  She  did  not 
turn  to  look  at  me.  After  a  moment  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice : 

"I  can't  understand." 

I  supposed  her  to  be  still  thinking  of  our  meeting  in 
the  fog. 

"I  cannot  understand  myself,"  I  answered.  "I  presume 
it  was  a  coincidence,  like  our  meeting  at  the  pond." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  did  not  mean  that,"  she  said. 
"I  mean  that  I  cannot  understand  how  you  can  be  so 
kind  to  me.  After  what  I  said,  and  the  way  I  have 
treated  you;  it  is  wonderful!" 

I  was  obliged  to  wait  another  moment  before  I  could 
reply.  I  clutched  the  wheel  tighter  than  ever. 

"The  wonderful  part  of  it  all,"  I  said,  earnestly,  "is 
that  you  should  even  speak  to  me,  after  my  treatment  of 
you  here,  to-night.  I  was  a  brute.  I  ordered  you  about 
as  if " 

"Hush !  Don't !  please  don't.  Think  of  what  I  said  to 
you!  Will  you  forgive  me?  I  have  been  so  ungrateful. 
You  saved  my  life  over  and  over  again  and  I — I " 

"Stop!  Don't  do  that !  If  you  do  I  shall— Miss  Col- 
ton,  please " 

She  choked  back  the  sob.  "Tell  me,"  she  said,  a  mo 
ment  later,  this  time  looking  me  directly  in  the  face, 
"why  did  you  sell  my  father  that  land  ?" 

It  was  my  turn  to  avoid  her  look.    I  did  not  answer. 

"I  know  it  was  not  because  of  the  money — the  price, 
I  mean.  Father  told  me  that  you  refused  the  five  thou 
sand  he  offered  and  would  accept  only  a  part  of  it; 
thirty-five  hundred,  I  think  he  said.  I  should  have 
known  that  the  price  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  even  if 
he  had  not  told  me.  But  why  did  you  sell  it?" 

I  would  have  given  all  I  had,  or  ever  expected  to  have, 

353 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

in  this  world,  to  tell  her  the  truth.  For  the  moment  I 
almost  hated  George  Taylor. 

"Oh,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  give  in  then  as  later," 
I  answered,  with  a  shrug.  "It  was  no  use  righting  the 
inevitable." 

"That  was  not  it.  I  know  it  was  not.  If  it  had  been 
you  would  have  taken  the  five  thousand.  And  I  know, 
too,  that  you  meant  what  you  said  when  you  told  me 
you  never  would  sell.  I  have  known  it  all  the  time. 
I  know  you  were  telling  me  the  truth." 

I  was  astonished.  "You  do?"  I  cried.  "Why,  you 
said " 

"Don't!  I  know  what  I  said,  and  I  am  so  ashamed. 
I  did  not  mean  it,  really.  For  a  moment,  there  in  the 
library,  when  Father  first  told  me,  I  thought  perhaps 
you — but  I  did  not  really  think  it.  And  when  he  told 
me  the  price,  I  knew.  Won't  you  tell  me  why  you 
sold?" 

"I  can't.     I  wish  I  could." 

"I  believe  I  can  guess." 

I  started.    "You  can  guessf"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  I  think  you  wanted  the  money  for  some  pur 
pose,  some  need  which  you  had  not  foreseen.  And  I  do 
not  believe  it  was  for  yourself  at  all.  I  think  it  was  for 
some  one  else.  Wasn't  that  it?" 

I  could  not  reply.  I  tried  to,  tried  to  utter  a  prompt 
denial,  but  the  words  would  not  come.  Her  "guess" 
was  so  close  to  the  truth  that  I  could  only  stammer  and 
hesitate. 

"It  was,"  she  said.  "I  thought  so.  For  your  mother, 
wasn't  it?" 

"No,  no.  Miss  Colton,  you  are  wrong.     I " 

"I  am  not  wrong.  Never  mind.  I  suppose  it  is  a 
secret.  Perhaps  I  shall  find  out  some  day.  But  will  you 

354 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

forgive  me  for  being  so  hateful?  Can  you?  What  is 
the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing — nothing.  I — you  are  too  good  to  me,  that 
is  all.  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"Hush !    And  we  will  be  friends  again  ?" 

"Yes Oh,  no!  no!  I  must  not  think  of 

it.  It  is  impossible." 

"Must  not  think  of  it?  When  I  ask  you  to?  Can't 
you  forgive  me,  after  all?" 

"There  was  nothing  to  forgive." 

"Yes,  there  was,  a  great  deal.  Is  there  something 
else?  Are  you  still  angry  with  me  because  of  what  I 
said  that  afternoon  at  the  gate  ?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

"It  was  hateful  of  me,  I  know.  But  I  could  see  that 
you  wished  to  avoid  me  and  I  was  provoked.  Besides, 
you  have  punished  me  for  that.  You  have  snubbed  me 
twice  since,  sir." 

"/  snubbed  your 

"Yes — twice.  Once  when  we  met  in  the  street.  You 
deliberately  turned  away  and  would  not  look  at  me. 
And  once  when  I  passed  you  in  the  canoe.  You  saw 
me — I  know  you  did — but  you  cut  me  dead.  That  is 
why  I  did  not  return  your  bow  to-day,  at  the  wedding." 

"But  you  had  said— I  thought " 

"I  know.  I  had  said  horrid  things.  I  deserved  to  be 
snubbed.  There!  now  I  have  confessed.  Mayn't  we  be 
friends?" 

"I     ...    Oh,  no,  we  must  not,  for  your  sake.    I — " 

"For  my  sake!    But  I  wish  it.    Why  not?" 

I  turned  on  her.  "Can't  you  see?"  I  said,  despairingly. 
"Look  at  the  difference  between  us !  You  are  what  you 
are  and  I " 

She  interrupted  me.     "Oh,"   she  cried,   impatiently, 

355 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"how  dare  you  speak  so?  How  dare  you  believe  that 
money  and — all  the  rest  of  it  influences  me  in  my  friend 
ships  ?  Do  you  think  I  care  for  that  ?" 

"I  did  not  mean  money  alone.  But  even  that  .  .  . 
Miss  Colton,  that  evening  when  we  returned  from  the  trip 
after  weakfish,  you  and  your  father  and  I,  I  heard — I  did 
not  mean  to  hear  but  I  did — what  your  mother  said  when 
she  met  you.  She  said  she  had  warned  you  against  trust 
ing  yourself  to  'that  common  fellow/  meaning  me.  That 
shows  what  she  thinks.  She  was  right;  in  a  way  she 
was  perfectly  right.  Now  you  see  what  I  mean  by  say 
ing  that  friendship  between  us  is  impossible?" 

I  had  spoken  at  white  heat.  Now  I  turned  away.  It 
was  settled.  She  must  understand  now. 

"Mr.  Paine." 

"Yes,  Miss  Colton." 

"I  am  sorry  you  heard  that.  Mother — she  is  my 
mother  and  I  love  her — but  she  says  foolish  things  some 
times.  I  am  sorry  you  heard  that,  but  since  you  did,  I 
wish  you  had  heard  the  rest." 

"The  rest?" 

"Yes.  I  answered  her  by  suggesting  that  she  had 
not  been  afraid  to  trust  me  in  the  care  of  Victor — Mr. 
Carver.  She  answered  that  she  hoped  I  did  not  mean 
to  compare  Mr.  Carver  with  you.  And  I  said " 

"Yes?    You  said ?" 

"I  said,"  the  tone  was  low  but  I  heard  every  syllable, 
"I  said  she  was  right,  there  was  no  comparison." 

"You  said  that?' 

"Yes." 

"You  said  it!    And  you  meant ?" 

"I  meant — I  think  I  meant  that  I  should  not  be  afraid 
to  trust  you  always — anywhere." 

Where  were  my  good  resolutions — my  stern  reasons 

356 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

to  remember  who  and  what  I  was — to  be  sane,  no  mat 
ter  at  what  cost  to  myself?  I  do  not  know  where  they 
were ;  then  I  did  not  care.  I  seized  her  hand.  It  trem 
bled,  but  she  did  not  draw  it  away. 

"Mabel—"  I  cried.     "Mabel " 

"Bump!" 

The  Comfort  shook  as  the  bow  of  a  dory  scraped  along 
her  starboard  quarter.  A  big  red  hand  clasped  the  rail 
and  its  mate  brandished  a  good-sized  club  before  my 
eyes. 

"Now,"  said  a  determined  voice,  "I've  got  ye  at  last! 
This  time  I've  caught  ye  dead  to  rights  I  Now,  by  god- 
f reys,  you'll  pay  me  for  them  lobsters !" 


357 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IF  I  had  been  giving  undivided  attention  to  my  com 
bined  duties  as  steersman  and  pilot,  instead  of 
neglecting  them  for  other  and  more  engrossing 
matters,  I  should,  doubtless,  have  seen  the  dory  before. 
As  it  was  I  had  not  seen  it  at  all,  nor  heard  the  oars. 
It  had  sneaked  up  on  the  Comfort  out  of  the  darkness 
and  its  occupant  had  laid  us  aboard  as  neatly  as  you 
please. 

I  was,  to  say  the  least,  startled  and  surprised.  I 
dodged  the  threatening  club  and  turned  a  dazed  face  to 
ward  the  person  brandishing  it.  He  appeared  to  be  a 
middle-sized,  elderly  person,  in  oilskins  and  souwester, 
and  when  he  spoke  a  gray  whisker  wagged  above  the 
chin  strap  of  the  souwester. 

"Who  in  blazes  are  you?"  I  demanded,  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  the  words  together. 

"Never  you  mind  that.  You  know  who  I  be  all  right 
enough.  Be  you  goin'  to  pay  me  for  them  lobsters? 
That's  what  /  want  to  know." 

"What  lobsters?" 

"Them  lobsters  you've  been  stealin'  out  of  my  pots  for 
the  last  fortnight." 

"/  have  been  stealing?" 

"Yes,  you.  I  been  layin'  for  you  all  night  long.  I 
don't  know  who  you  be,  but  you'll  pay  for  them  lobsters 
or  come  along  with  me  to  the  lock-up,  one  or  t'other." 

I  looked  about,  over  the  water.     The  light  toward 

358 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

which  I  had  been  trying  to  steer  blazed  dead  ahead,  sur 
prisingly  near  and  bright.  Except  for  that,  however, 
there  was  no  sign  of  anything  except  darkness  and 
waves. 

"Look  here,  my  man,"  I  said.  "I  haven't  stolen  your 
lobsters;  but " 

"I  know  better.  I  don't  know  who  you  be,  but  I'd 
know  you  was  a  thief  if  I  run  acrost  you  in  prayer- 
meetin'.  Just  to  look  at  you  is  enough." 

I  heard  a  hysterical  giggle  from  the  bench  beside  me. 
Evidently  the  person  with  the  club  heard  it,  too,  for  he 
leaned  forward  to  look. 

"So  there's  two  of  ye,  eh!"  he  said.  "Well,  by  god- 
freys,  I  don't  care  if  there's  a  million!  You'll  pay  for 
them  lobsters  or  go  to  the  lock-up." 

I  laughed  aloud.  "Very  well,"  I  said.  "I  am  agree 
able." 

"You're  agreeable !  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  This 
ain't  no  laughin'  matter,  I'll  tell  you  that." 

I  laughed  again.  "I  don't  care  what  you  tell  me,"  I 
observed.  "And  if  you  will  take  us  somewhere  ashore — 
to  the  lock-up  or  anywhere  else — I  shall  be  much 
obliged." 

The  occupant  of  the  dory  seemed  to  be  puzzled.  He 
leaned  forward  once  more. 

"What  sort  of  talk  is  that?"  he  demanded.  "Where's 
my  lobsters?  .  .  .  Hey!  What?  I  swan  to  man, 
I  believe  one  of  ye's  a  woman !  Have  the  females  turned 
thieves,  too?" 

"I  don't  know.  See  here,  my  friend,  my  name  is 
Paine,  and  I'm  the  only  lobster  aboard  this  craft.  This 
lady  and  I  belong  in  Denboro.  My  launch  has  run  out  of 
gasolene  and  we  have  been  drifting  about  the  bay  since 
five  o'clock.  Now,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  any 

359 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

more,  but  take  us  to  the  lock-up  and  be  quick  about 
it." 

The  unknown  paid  no  attention  to  my  entreaty.  In 
stead  he  leaned  still  further  over  the  Comfort's  rail.  The 
dory  careened  until  I  expected  to  see  her  capsize. 

"I  swan  to  man!"  he  muttered.  "I  swan  to  man! 
'Tain't  possible  I'm  mistook!" 

"It  scarcely  seems  possible,  I  admit.  But  I'm  afraid 
it  is  true." 

I  heard  the  club  fall  with  a  clatter. 

"My — godfreys!  Do  you  mean  to  say ?  From 

Denboro?  Out  of  gasolene!  Why — why,  you've  got 
sail  up!" 

"Nothing  but  a  tarpaulin  on  an  oar." 

"And  you've  been  cruisin'  all  night?  Through  the 
fog — the  squall — and  all?" 

"Yes,"  wearily,  "yes — yes — yes." 

"But— but  ain't  you  drownded  ?" 

"Not  quite.  If  you  don't  let  go  of  that  rail  we  shall 
be  soon." 

"Driftin'  all  night!     Ain't  you  wet  through?" 

"Yes.  Might  I  suggest  that  we  postpone  the  rest  of 
the  catechism  until  we  reach — the  lock-up?" 

This  suggestion  apparently  was  accepted.  Our  captor 
suddenly  became  very  much  alive. 

"Give  me  a  line,"  he  ordered.  "Anchor  rope'll  do. 
Where  is  it?  up  for'ard?" 

He  pawed  the  dory  along,  hand  over  hand,  until  he 
reached  the  Comfort's  bow.  I  heard  the  thump  of  the 
anchor  as  he  dragged  it  into  the  dory.  Then  came  the 
creak  and  splash  of  oars.  His  voice  sounded  from 
somewhere  ahead. 

"Head  for  the  light,"  he  shouted.  "I'm  goin'  to  tow 
you  in." 

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THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"In  where?" 

"In  ashore.  That's  Mack'rel  Island  light.  My  name's 
Atwood.  I'm  keeper  of  it." 

I  turned  to  my  passenger. 

"It  looks,"  I  said,  "as  if  our  voyage  was  almost  over." 

And  it  was.  Mr.  Atwood  had  a  tough  job  on  his 
hands,  towing  the  launch.  But  the  make-shift  sail  helped 
some  and  I  did  my  best  to  steer  in  his  wake.  Miss  Col- 
ton  and  I  had  no  opportunity  to  talk.  The  gentleman 
in  the  dory  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  remarks,  shouted 
between  grunts,  and  embroidered  with  cheerful  pro 
fanity.  We  caught  fragments  of  the  monologue. 

"I  swan  to  man — ugh — I  thought  ye  was  thieves,  for 
sartin.  Some  everlastin',  dam — ugh — have  been  sneak- 
in'  out  nights  and  haulin'  my  lobster  pots.  Ugh — if  I'd 
caught  'em  I  was  cal'latin'  to  — ugh — break  their — ugh — 
ugh —  This  dory  pulls  like  a  coal  barge — I —  Wet 
through,  ain't  ye?  And  froze,  I  caFlate —  Ugh — and 
hungry,  too —  Ugh — ugh —  My  old  woman's  tendin* 
light.  She — ugh —  Here  we  be !  Easy  now !" 

A  low  shore  loomed  black  across  our  bows.  Above  it 
the  lighthouse  rose,  a  white  chalk  mark  against  the  sky 
with  a  red  glare  at  its  upper  end.  Mr.  Atwood  sprang 
overboard  with  a  splash.  The  launch  was  drawn  in  at 
the  end  of  its  anchor  rope  until  its  keel  grated  on  the 
sand. 

"Now  then !"  said  our  rescuer.  "Here  we  be !  Made 
harbor  at  last,  though  I  did  think  I'd  crack  my  back  tim 
bers  afore  we  done  it.  I'll  tote  the  lady  ashore.  You 
can  wade,  can't  ye?" 

I  could  and  I  was  very  glad  of  the  opportunity.  I 
turned  to  take  Miss  Colton  in  my  arms,  but  she  avoided 
me. 

"Here  I  am,  Mr.  Atwood,"  she  said.  "Oh,  thank  you." 
361 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

She  was  swung  into  the  air  and  moved  shoreward 
to  the  accompaniment  of  mighty  splashings. 

"Don't  be  scart,  ma'am/'  said  Mr.  Atwood.  "I  shan't 
let  ye  drop.  Lord  sakes !  I've  toted  more  women  in  my 
time  than  you  can  shake  a  stick  at.  There's  more  da — 
that  is,  there's  more  summer  folks  try  to  land  on  this 
island  at  low  tide  than  there  is  moskeeters  and  there's 
more  of  them  than  there's  fiddles  in —  Hi !  come  on,  you, 
Mr.  What's-your-name !  Straight  as  you  go." 

I  came  on  wading  through  eelgrass  and  water  until 
I  reached  a  sandy  beach.  A  moment  later  we  stood  be 
fore  a  white  door  in  a  very  white  little  house.  Mr.  At.- 
wood  opened  the  door,  revealing  a  cosy  little  sitting 
room  and  a  gray-haired,  plump,  pleasant-faced  woman 
sitting  in  a  rocking  chair  beside  a  table  with  a  lamp 
upon  it. 

"Hello,  Betsy!"  bellowed  our  rescuer,  stamping  his 
wet  rubber  boots  on  the  braided  mat.  "Got  company 
come  to  supper — or  breakfast,  or  whatever  you  want  to 
call  it.  This  is  Mr.  Paine  from  Denboro.  This  is  his 
wife,  Mrs.  Paine.  They've  been  cruisin'  all  the  way 
from  Cape  Cod  to  Kamchatky  in  a  motor  boat  with  no 
power  to  it.  Don't  that  beat  the  Old  Scratch,  hey?" 

The  plump  woman  rose,  without  a  trace  of  surprise, 
as  if  having  company  drop  in  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  came 
over  to  us,  beaming  with  smiles. 

"I'm  real  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Paine,"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  your  husband,  too.  You  must  be  froze  to  death ! 
Set  right  down  while  I  fix  up  a  room  for  you  and  hunt 
up  some  dry  things  for  you  to  put  on.  I  won't  be  but 
a  minute." 

Before  I  could  offer  explanations,  or  do  more  than 
stammer  thanks,  and  rather  incoherent  ones  at  that,  she 

362 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

had  bustled  out  of  the  room.  I  caught  one  glimpse  of 
Mabel  Colton's  face ;  it  was  crimson  from  neck  to  brow. 
"Mrs.  Paine !"  "Your  husband !"  I  was  grateful  to  the 
doughty  Mr.  Atwood,  but  just  then  I  should  have  en 
joyed  choking  him. 

The  light  keeper,  quite  unaware  that  his  unfortunate 
misapprehension  of  the  relationship  between  his  guests 
might  be  embarrassing,  was  doing  his  best  to  make  us 
feel  at  home. 

"Take  off  your  boots,  Mr.  Paine,"  he  urged.  "The  old 
lady'll  fetch  you  a  pair  of  my  slippers  and  some  socks 
in  a  minute.  She'll  make  your  wife  comf'table,  too. 
She's  a  great  hand  at  makin'  folks  comf'table.  I  tell  her 
she'd  make  a  cake  of  ice  feel  to  home  on  a  hot  stove. 
She  beats " 

The  "old  lady"  herself  interrupted  him,  entering  with 
a  bottle  in  one  hand  and  a  lamp  in  the  other. 

"Joshua!"  she  said,  warningly. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Betsy  ?" 

"Be  careful  how  you  talk." 

"Talk!"  with  a  wink  at  me.  "I  wan't  goin'  to  say 
nothin'." 

"Yes,  you  was.  Mrs.  Paine,  you  mustn't  mind  him. 
He  used  to  go  mate  on  a  fishin'  schooner  and,  from  all 
I  can  learn,  they  use  pretty  strong  language  aboard 
these  boats." 

"Pick  it  up  same  as  a  poll  parrot,"  cut  in  her  hus 
band.  "Comes  natural  when  you're  handlin'  wet  trawl 
line  in  February.  Can't  seem  to  get  no  comfort  out  of 
anything  milder." 

"He's  a  real  good-hearted  man,  Joshua  is,  and  a  pro 
fession'  church  member,  but  he  does  swear  more'n  he 
ought  to.  But,  as  I  tell  the  minister,  he  don't  mean 
nothin'  by  it." 

363 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Not  a  damn  thing!"  said  Mr.  Atwood,  reassuringly. 

The  bottle,  it  appeared,  contained  Jamaica  ginger,  a 
liberal  dose  of  which  Mrs.  Atwood  insisted  upon  our  tak 
ing  as  a  precaution  against  catching  cold. 

"There's  nothin'  better,"  she  said. 

"You  bet  there  ain't!"  this  from  the  lightkeeper.  "A 
body  can't  get  within  forty  fathoms  of  a  cold  with  a 
swallow  of  that  amidships.  It's  hotter  than " 

"Joshua!" 

"The  Fourth  of  July,"  concluded  her  husband,  tri 
umphantly. 

"And  now,  Mrs.  Paine,"  went  on  the  lady  of  the 
house,  "your  room's  all  ready.  I've  laid  out  some  dry 
things  for  you  on  the  bed  and  some  of  Joshua's,  too. 
You  and  your  husband " 

I  thought  it  high  time  to  explain. 

"The  lady  is  not  my  wife,"  I  said,  quickly. 

"She  ain't!    Why,  I  thought  Joshua  said " 

"He — er — made  a  mistake.  She  is  Miss  Colton,  a 
summer  resident  and  neighbor  of  mine  in  Denboro." 

"Sho!  you  don't  say!    That's  just  like  you,  Joshua!" 

"Just  like  me!  Well,  how'd  I  know?  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss,  I'm  sure.  Shan't  beg  your  hus — I  mean 
Mr.  Paine's  pardon ;  he  ought  to  thank  me  for  the  com 
pliment.  Haw !  haw !" 

Miss  Colton  herself  made  the  next  remark. 

"If  my  room  is  ready,  Mrs.  Atwood,"  she  said,  with 
out  even  a  glance  in  my  direction,  "I  think  I  will  go  to  it. 
I  am  rather  wet." 

"Wet!  Land  sakes,  yes!  I  guess  you  be!  Come 
right  in,  Joshua,  take  them  clothes  of  yours  into  our 
room  and  let  Mr.  Paine  put  'em  on." 

Her  husband  obeyed  orders.  After  I  was  alone  in 
the  room  to  which  he  conducted  me  and  enjoying  the 

364 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

luxury  of  dry  socks,  I  heard  him  justifying  his  mistake 
in  stentorian  tones. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Betsy,"  I  heard  him  say.  "I  took 
it  for  granted  they  was  married.  When  I  hove  along 
side  that  motor  boat  they  was  a-settin'  close  up  together 
in  the  stern  sheets  and  so,  of  course,  I  thought " 

"You  hadn't  any  business  to.  You  made  that  poor 
young  lady  blush  somethin'  dreadful.  Most  likely 
they're  just  keepin'  company — or  engaged,  or  somethin'. 
You  ought  to  be  more  careful." 

I  wondered  if  the  young  lady  herself  heard  all  this. 
I  didn't  see  how  she  could  help  it. 

Kinder-hearted  people  than  these  two  never  lived,  I 
do  believe.  It  was  after  three  in  the  morning,  both  had 
been  up  all  night,  we  were  absolute  strangers  to  them, 
and  yet,  without  a  word  of  complaint,  they  gave  the 
remainder  of  the  hours  before  daylight  to  making  us 
comfortable.  When  I  dressed  as  much  of  myself  as  a 
suit  of  Mr.  Atwood's — his  Sunday  best,  I  presume — 
would  cover,  and,  with  a  pair  of  carpet  slippers  about 
the  size  and  shape  of  toy  ferry  boats  on  my  feet,  emerged 
from  the  bedroom,  I  found  the  table  set  in  the  kitchen, 
the  teapot  steaming  and  Mrs.  Atwood  cooking  "spider 
bread"  on  the  stove.  When  Miss  Colton,  looking  surpris 
ingly  presentable — considering  that  she,  too,  was  wearing 
borrowed  apparel  four  sizes  too  large  for  her — made  her 
appearance,  we  sat  down  to  a  simple  meal  which,  I 
think,  was  the  most  appetizing  I  ever  tasted. 

The  Atwoods  were  bursting  with  curiosity  concerning 
our  getting  adrift  in  the  motor  boat.  I  described  the 
adventure  briefly.  When  I  told  of  Lute's  forgetfulness 
in  the  matter  of  gasolene  the  lightkeeper  thumped  the 
table. 

"There,  by  godfreys!"  he  exclaimed.     "I  could  see  it 

365 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

comin' !  That  feller's  for  all  the  world  like  a  cook  I  had 
once  aboard  the  Ezry  H.  Jones.  That  cook  was  the  big 
gest  numskull  that  ever  drawed  the  breath  of  life. 
Always  forgettin'  somethin',  he  was,  and  always  at  the 
most  inconvenient  time.  Once,  if  you'll  believe  it,  I  had 
a  skipper  of  another  vessel  come  aboard  and,  wishin'  to 
be  sort  of  hospitable,  as  you  might  say,  I  offered  him  a 
glass  of  rum." 

"Joshua!" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  Betsy.  This  was  years  ago.  I'm 
as  good  a  teetotaler  now  as  you  be,  and  I  never  was 
what  you'd  call  a  soak.  But  I've  seen  fellers —  Why,  I 
knew  one  once  that  used  to  go  to  bed  in  the  dark.  He 
was  so  full  of  alcohol  he  didn't  dast  to  light  a  match 
fear  he'd  catch  a-fire.  Fact!  He  was  eighty-odd  then, 
and  he  lived  to  be  nigh  a  hundred.  Preserved,  you  un 
derstand,  same  as  one  of  them  specimens  in  a  museum. 
He'd  kept  forever,  I  cal'late,  if  he  hadn't  fell  off  the 
dock.  The  water  fixed  him;  he  wasn't  used  to  it.  He 
was  the  wust " 

"Never  mind  him.    Stick  to  the  cook." 

"Yes,  yes.  Well,  I  sent  that  cook  for  the  rum  and 
when  he  fetched  it,  I  thought  it  smelt  funny.  And  when 
I  tasted  it — godfreys!  'Twas  bay  rum;  yes,  sir,  bay 
rum !  same  as  they  put  on  your  hair.  You  see,  he'd  for 
got  to  buy  any  rum  when  we  was  in  our  last  port  and, 
havin'  the  bay  rum  along  he  fetched  that.  'Twas  some 
kind  of  rum  and  that  was  enough  for  him.  I  was  mad, 
but  that  visitin'  skipper,  he  didn't  care.  Drank  it  down 
and  smacked  his  lips.  'I'm  a  State  of  Maine  man,'  he 
says,  'and  that's  a  prohibition  state.  This  tastes  like 
home,'  he  says.  'If  you  don't  mind  I'll  help  myself  to 
another/  'I  don't  mind/  says  I,  'but  I'm  sorry  I  ain't 
got  any  hair-ile.  If  I  had  you  might  have  a  barber-shop 

366 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

toddy.'  Yes,  sir!  Ho-ho!  that's  what  I  said.  But  he 
didn't  mind.  He  was " 

And  so  on.  The  yarns  were  not  elegant,  but,  as  he 
told  them,  they  were  funny.  Mabel  Colton  laughed  as 
heartily  as  the  rest  of  us.  She  appeared  to  be  in  fine 
spirits.  She  talked  with  the  Atwoods,  answered  their 
questions,  and  ate  the  hot  "spider  bread"  and  butter  as 
if  she  had  never  tasted  anything  as  good.  But  with 
me  she  would  not  talk.  Whenever  I  addressed  a  remark 
to  her,  she  turned  it  with  a  laugh  and  her  next  speech 
was  pretty  certain  to  be  addressed  to  the  lightkeeper  or 
his  wife.  As  for  our  adventure  in  the  launch,  that  she 
treated  as  a  joke. 

"Wan't  you  awful  scared  when  that  squall  struck  so 
sudden?"  inquired  Mrs.  Atwood. 

"Dreadfully." 

"Humph !"  this  from  Joshua ;  "I  cal'late  Mr.  Paine 
was  some  scart  too.  What  did  you  do,  Mr.  Paine?" 

"I  rigged  that  canvas  on  the  oar  as  soon  as  possible," 
I  answered. 

"Um-hm.     That  was  good  judgment." 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Atwood,"  asked  the  young  lady  inno 
cently,  "are  all  seafaring  men  very  dictatorial  under 
such  circumstances?" 

"Very— which?" 

"I  mean  do  they  order  people  about  and  make  them 
do  all  sorts  of  things,  whether  they  wish  to  or  not?" 

"Sartin.  Godfreys!  I  never  asked  nobody  what  they 
wished  aboard  the  Ezry  H.  Jones." 

"And  do  they  tell  them  to  'sit  down  and  keep 
still'?" 

"Gen'rally  they  tell  'em  to  get  up  and  keep  movin'. 
If  they  don't  they  start  'em  pretty  lively — with  a  rope's 
end." 

367 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  see.     Even  when  they  are — ladies?" 

"Ladies  ?  Godfreys !  we  never  had  but  one  woman 
aboard  the  Esry.  Had  the  skipper's  wife  one  v'yage,  but 
nobody  ever  ordered  her  around  any  to  speak  of.  She 
was  six  feet  tall  and  weighed  two  hundred.  All  hands 
was  scart  to  death  of  her." 

"Suppose  she  had  been  ordered  to  'sit  down  and  keep 
still' ;  what  do  you  think  would  have  happened  ?" 

"Don't  know.  If  'twas  one  of  the  hands  I  guess 
likely  she'd  have  hove  him  overboard.  If  'twas  the 
skipper  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  have  knocked  him 
down — after  she  got  over  the  surprise  of  his  darin'  to 
do  such  a  thing.  She  had  him  trained,  I  tell  ye!" 

"Miss  Colton  thinks  me  rather  a  bully,  I  am  afraid," 
I  said.  "I  did  order  her  about  rather  roughly." 

Mr.  Atwood  burst  into  a  laugh.  "That  Esry  Jones 
woman  was  the  skipper's  wife,"  he  declared.  "Makes  a 
lot  of  difference,  that  does.  I  was  considerable  of  a  bully 
myself  afore  Betsy  got  me  on  the  parson's  books.  Now 
I'm  the  most  peaceable  critter  ever  you  see.  Your  turn's 
comin',  Miss  Colton.  All  you  got  to  do  is  be  patient." 

"Joshua!"  said  Mrs.  Atwood,  in  mild  reproof.  "You 
mustn't  mind  his  talk,  Miss  Colton.  He's  a  terrible 
joker." 

Miss  Colton  changed  the  subject.  She  did  not  so 
much  as  look  at  me  again  during  the  meal  and,  after  it 
was  over,  she  went  to  her  room,  explaining  that  she  was 
very  tired  and  would  try  to  get  a  little  sleep. 

I  had  discovered  that  the  lighthouse,  being  close  to  the 
mainland,  was  equipped  with  a  telephone.  Now  I 
begged  permission  to  use  it.  I  called  up  Denboro  and 
asked  to  be  connected  with  the  Colton  home.  I  felt 
very  sure  that  there  would  be  no  sleep  in  the  big  house 
that  night  and  I  wished  to  relieve  their  anxiety  and  to 

368 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

send  word  to  Mother.  Mr.  Colton  himself  answered  my 
call. 

I  announced  my  identity  and  explained  where  I  was 
and  that  his  daughter  was  in  my  care  and  perfectly  safe. 

"Thank  God!"  was  the  fervent  exclamation  at  the 
other  end  of  the  wire,  and  the  voice  which  uttered  it  was 
shaking  with  emotion.  "Stay  where  you  are  a  moment, 
Paine.  Let  me  tell  my  wife.  She  is  almost  crazy.  Hold 
the  wire." 

I  held  the  wire  and  waited.  The  next  voice  which 
reached  my  ears  was  Mrs.  Colton's.  She  asked  a  dozen 
questions,  one  after  the  other.  Was  Mabel  safe?  Was 
I  sure  she  was  safe?  Wasn't  the  poor  child  almost  dead 
after  all  she'd  been  through?  What  had  happened? 
What  was  she  doing  away  over  there  in  that  dreadful 
place?  Why  had  I  taken  her  there? 

I  answered  as  well  as  I  could,  telling  briefly  of  the 
collision  in  the  fog  and  what  followed.  The  explana 
tion  appeared  to  be  rather  unsatisfactory. 

"You  take  the  wire,  James,"  I  heard  the  lady  say.  "I 
can't  make  it  all  out.  Mabel  is  at  some  horrid  light 
house  and  there  is  no  kerosene,  or  something.  The  poor 
child  !  Alone  there,  with  that  man !  Tell  him  she  must 
be  brought  home  at  once.  It  is  dreadful  for  her !  Think 
what  she  must  have  suffered!  And  with  him!  What 
will  people  say  ?  Tell  him  to  bring  her  home !  The  idea ! 
I  don't  believe  a  word " 

"Hello — hello,  Paine !"  Colton  was  at  the  'phone  once 
more.  "Can  you  get  Mabel — Miss  Colton,  over  to  Well- 
mouth,  do  you  think?" 

"Yes.  I  will  get  a  boat  as  soon  as  I  can.  Miss  Col 
ton  is  in  her  room,  asleep  I  hope.  She  is  very  tired  and 
I  think  she  should  rest  until  daylight.  I  will  get  her  to 
Wellmouth  in  time  for  the  morning  train." 

369 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Never  mind  the  train.  I'll  come  after  her  in  the 
auto.  I  will  start  now.  I  will  meet  you  at  the  landing 
— at  the  wharf,  if  there  is  one." 

"Very  well.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send  word 
to  my  mother  that  I  am  safe  and  sound?  She  will  be 
worried." 

"Yes,  yes,  I'll  send  word.  Tell  Mabel  to  be  careful 
and  not  take  cold.  .  .  .  Yes,  Henrietta,  I  am  attend 
ing  to  everything.  Good-by,  Paine." 

That  was  all,  not  a  word  of  thanks.  I  did  not  expect 
thanks  and  I  made  allowances  for  the  state  of  mind  at 
the  mansion;  but  that  telephone  conversation,  particu 
larly  Mrs.  Colton's  share  in  it,  cast  a  gloom  over  my 
spirits.  I  did  not  care  to  hear  more  of  Mr.  Atwood's 
yarns  and  jokes.  I  went  to  my  own  room,  but  I  did  not 
sleep. 

At  half-past  five  I  was  astir  again.  The  lightkeeper, 
it  appeared,  had  an  auxiliary  engine  in  a  catboat  which 
he  owned  and  could  let  me  have  a  sufficient  supply  of 
gasolene  to  fill  the  Comfort's  tank.  When  this  was  done 
— and  it  took  a  long  time,  for  Joshua  insisted  upon  help 
ing  and  he  was  provokingly  slow — I  returned  to  the 
sitting  room  and  asked  Mrs.  Atwood  to  call  Miss  Colton. 

"Land  sakes!"  was  the  cheery  answer,  "I  didn't  have 
to  call  her.  She's  been  up  for  fifteen  minutes.  Said 
she  was  goin'  to  take  a  cruise  around  the  lighthouse.  I 
cal'late  you'll  find  her  out  there  somewheres.  Go  and 
fetch  her  here.  You  two  must  have  a  bite — a  cup  of 
hot  coffee  and  a  biled  egg,  anyhow — afore  you  leave. 
Yes,  you  must.  I  shan't  listen  to  a  no  from  either  of 
you." 

I  went  out  and  crossed  the  sandy  yard  to  the  white 
washed  lighthouse.  There  was  no  sign  of  Miss  Colton 
in  the  yard,  but  the  door  of  the  lighthouse  was  open 

370 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

and  I  entered.  No  one  there.  The  stairs,  winding1  up 
ward,  invited  me  to  climb  and  I  did  so.  The  little  room 
with  the  big  lantern,  the  latter  now  covered  with  a  white 
cloth,  was  untenanted  also.  I  looked  out  of  the  window. 
There  she  was,  on  the  iron  gallery  surrounding  the  top 
of  the  tower,  leaning  on  the  rail  and  gazing  out  over  the 
water.  She  had  not  heard  me.  For  a  moment  I  stood 
there,  watching  her. 

She  was  not  wearing  Mrs.  Atwood's  gown  now,  but 
her  own,  wrinkled  and  stained  from  its  last  night's 
drenching  in  salt  water,  but  dry  now.  She  was  bare 
headed  and  her  brown  hair  was  tossing  in  the  sea  breeze. 
The  sun,  but  a  little  way  above  the  horizon  and  shining 
through  the  morning  haze,  edged  her  delicate  profile 
with  a  line  of  red  gold.  I  had  never  seen  her  look  more 
beautiful,  or  more  aristocratic  and  unapproachable.  The 
memory  of  our  night  in  the  launch  seemed  more  like  an 
unbelievable  dream  than  ever,  and  the  awakening  more 
cruel.  For  I  was  awake  now.  What  I  had  heard  over 
the  'phone  had  awakened  me  thoroughly.  There  should 
be  no  more  dreaming. 

I  stepped  out  upon  the  gallery. 

"Good  morning,"  I  said. 

She  turned  quickly,  and  I  heard  her  catch  her  breath 
with  a  little  gasp. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  I ;  "I'm  afraid  I  startled  you." 

She  was  startled,  that  was  evident,  and,  it  seemed  to 
me,  a  trifle  embarrassed.  But  the  embarrassment  was 
but  momentary. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said.  "How  very  silent  you  can 
be  when  you  choose,  Mr.  Paine.  How  long  have  you 
been  standing  there,  pray?" 

"Only  a  moment.    I  came  to  call  you  to  breakfast." 

"To  breakfast?" 

371 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Atwood  insists  upon  our  breakfasting  be 
fore  I  take  you  ashore." 

"Oh!  Why  didn't  you  call  me?  I  would  have  come 
down." 

"I  did  not  see  you  until  I  reached  the  lantern  room. 
My  silence  was  not  premeditated.  I  made  noise  enough, 
or  so  it  seemed  to  me ;  but  you  were  so  wrapped  in  your 
thoughts " 

"Nonsense!"  She  interrupted  me  almost  sharply.  "I 
was  not  'wrapped'  in  anything,  except  the  beauty  of  this 
view.  It  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?" 

"Very,"  I  answered,  but  fear  I  was  not  looking 
at  the  view.  It  may  be  that  she  noticed  this,  for  she 
said: 

"You  have  come  into  your  own  again,  I  see.  So 
have  I." 

She  indicated  her  gown  with  a  smile  and  a  gesture. 
I  laughed. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  have  returned  unto  Joshua  that 
which  was  his." 

"You  should  have  kept  it.  You  have  no  idea  what 
a  picturesque  lightkeeper  you  make,  Mr.  Paine." 

Somehow  or  other  this  harmless  joke  hurt. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  drily,  "that  is  about  my  measure, 
I  presume." 

Her  eyes  twinkled.  "I  thought  the  measure  rather 
scant,"  she  observed,  mischievously.  "I  wish  I  might 
have  a  snap-shot  of  you  in  that — uniform." 

"I  am  afraid  the  opportunity  for  that  is  past." 

"But  it — "  with  a  little  bubble  of  mirth,  "it  was  so 
funny." 

"No  doubt.  I  am  sorry  I  can't  oblige  you  with  a  pho 
tograph." 

She  looked  at  me,  biting  her  lip. 

372 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Is  your  bump  of  humor  a  dent,  Mr.  Paine?"  she  in 
quired.  "I  am  afraid  it  must  be." 

"You  may  be  right.  I  don't  appreciate  a  joke  as 
keenly  as — well,  as  Mr.  Carver,  for  instance." 

She  turned  her  back  upon  me  and  led  the  way  to  the 
door. 

"Shall  we  go  to  breakfast?"  she  asked,  in  a  different 
tone. 

Breakfast  was  a  silent  meal,  so  far  as  we  two  were 
concerned.  The  Atwoods,  however,  talked  enough  to 
make  up  the  deficiency. 

As  v/e  rose  from  the  table  the  young  lady  turned  to 
the  lightkeeper. 

"Mr.  Atwood,"  she  said,  "I  presume  you  are  going  to 
be  kind  enough  to  take  me  to  Wellmouth?" 

"Why,  Miss,  I — I  wan't  cal'latin'  to.  Mr.  Paine  here, 
he's  got  all  the  gas  he  needs  now  and  he'll  take  you  over 
in  his  launch." 

"Oh !    But  you  will  go,  if  I  ask  you  to  ?" 

"Sartin  sure." 

"You  have  been  so  very  kind  that  I  dislike  to  ask  an 
other  favor;  but  I  hoped  you  would  send  a  telegram 
for  me.  My  father  and  mother  will  be  very  much  alarmed 
and  I  must  wire  them  at  once.  You  will  have  to  send 
it  'collect,'  for,"  with  a  rueful  smile,  "I  haven't  my  purse 
with  me." 

"Land  sakes!  that'll  be  all  right.  Glad  to  help  you 
out." 

I  put  in  a  word.  "It  will  not  be  necessary,"  I  said, 
impatiently.  "I  have  money  enough,  Miss  Colton." 

I  was  ignored. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Atwood.  You  will  come 
with  me  and  look  out  for  the  telegram?" 

"Yes.    Yes — yes.    But  I  don't  see  what  you  need  to 

373 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

send  no  telegram  for.  Mr.  Paine  here,  he  telephoned 
to  your  folks  last  night." 

She  looked  at  me  and  then  at  Joshua. 

"Last  night?"  she  repeated. 

"Why  yes— or  this  mornin'  after  you'd  gone  to  bed. 
He  was  dead  set  on  it.  I  could  see  he  was  'most  tired 
and  wore  out,  but  he  wouldn't  rest  till  he'd  'phoned 
your  folks  and  told  'em  you  was  safe  and  sound.  Didn't 
seem  to  care  nothin'  about  himself,  but  he  was  bound 
your  pa  and  ma  shouldn't  worry." 

She  turned  to  me. 

"Did  you?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "Your  father  is  to  meet  us  at 
the  Wellmouth  wharf." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"I  intended  to.  I  meant  to  tell  you  when  I  saw  you 
in  the  lighthouse,  but — I  forgot  it." 

She  said  no  more,  but  when  Joshua,  hat  and  boots  on, 
met  us  at  the  door  she  spoke  to  him. 

"You  need  not  go,  Mr.  Atwood,"  she  said.  "It  will 
not  be  necessary — now." 

"Godfreys !  I'd  just  as  soon  as  not.  Ruther,  if  any 
thing." 

He  hurried  down  to  the  beach.  I  was  about  to  fol 
low  when  a  hand  touched  my  arm.  I  turned,  to  find 
a  pair  of  brown  eyes,  misty  but  wonderful,  looking  into 
mine. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Colton. 

"Don't  mention  it." 

"But  I  shall.  It  was  thoughtful  and  kind.  I  had  for 
gotten,  or — at  least — I  took  it  for  granted  there  was  no 
'phone  here.  But  you  did  not  forget.  It  was  thought 
ful,  but — it  was  like  you." 

I  was  breathing  hard.     I  could  not  look  at  her. 

374 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Don't,"  I  said,  roughly.  "It  was  nothing.  Anyone 
with  common  sense  would  have  thought  of  it  and  done 
it,  of  course." 

"I  did  not.  But  you —  Oh,  it  was  like  you !  Always 
some  one  else  and  never  yourself.  You  were  worn  out. 
You  must  have  been,  after — "  with  a  shudder — "last 
night.  Oh,  I  have  so  much  to  thank  you  for!  I " 

"Come  on !  Heave  ahead !"  It  was  Mr.  Atwood,  bel 
lowing  from  the  beach.  "All  aboard  for  Wellmouth 
and  pints  alongshore." 

Betsy  appeared  in  the  door  behind  us. 

"All  ready,  be  you?"  she  asked. 

I  could  not  have  answered,  but  my  companion  was 
once  more  as  calm  and  cool  as  the  morning  itself. 

"All  ready,"  she  answered.  "Good-by,  Mrs.  Atwood. 
And  thank  you  over  and  over  again.  You  have  been  so 
kind."  With  a  sudden  flash  of  enthusiasm.  "Every  one 
is  kind  It  is  a  beautiful  world.  Good-by." 

She  ran  lightly  down  the  slope  and  I  followed. 

The  trip  to  Wellmouth  was  of  but  a  half  hour's  dura 
tion.  Atwood  talked  all  the  time.  Miss  Colton  laughed 
at  his  stories  and  seemed  to  be  without  a  care.  She 
scarcely  looked  at  me  during  the  passage,  and  if  she 
caught  me  looking  at  her  and  our  glances  met  she  turned 
away.  On  the  wharf  was  a  big  automobile,  surrounded 
by  a  gaping  crowd  of  small  boys  and  'longshore  loafers. 

We  drew  up  beside  the  landing.  Our  feminine  pas 
senger  sprang  ashore  and  ran  up  the  steps,  to  be  seized 
in  her  father's  arms.  Mrs.  Colton  was  there  also,  bab 
bling  hysterically.  I  watched  and  listened  for  a  moment. 
Then  I  started  the  engine. 

"Shove  off,"  I  ordered.  The  lightkeeper  was  aston 
ished. 

"Ain't  ye  goin'  ashore?"  he  demanded. 

375 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"No,"  I  answered,  curtly.  "I'm  going  home.  Shove 
off." 

The  launch  was  fifty  feet  from  the  pier  when  I  heard 
a  shout.  Colton  was  standing  on  the  wharf  edge,  wav 
ing  his  hand.  Beside  him  stood  his  daughter,  her* 
mother's  arms  about  her. 

"Here !  Paine !"  shouted  Colton.  "Come  back !  Come 
back  and  go  home  with  us  in  the  car.  There  is  plenty 
of  room." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Come  back !  Come  back,  Paine !"  he  shouted  again. 
Mrs.  Colton  raised  her  head  from  her  daughter's  shoul 
der. 

"James !  James !"  she  cautioned,  without  taking  the 
trouble  to  lower  her  voice,  "don't  make  a  scene.  Let  him 
go  in  his  dreadful  boat,  if  he  prefers  to." 

"Paine!"  cried  her  husband  again. 

"I  must  look  out  for  the  launch,"  I  shouted.  "I  shall 
be  home  almost  as  soon  as  you  are.  Good-by." 

I  left  the  lightkeeper  at  his  island.  He  refused  to 
accept  a  cent  from  me,  except  in  payment  for  the 
gasolene,  and  declared  he  had  had  a  "fust-rate  night  of 
it." 

"Come  and  see  us  again,  Mr.  Paine,"  he  said.  "Come 
any  time  and  fetch  your  lady  along.  She's  a  good  one, 
she  is,  and  nice-lookin',  don't  talk!  You're  a  lucky 
critter,  did  you  know  it  ?  Haw !  haw  !  Good-by." 

The  Comfort  never  made  better  time  than  on  that 
homeward  trip.  I  anchored  her  at  her  moorings,  went 
ashore  in  the  skiff,  and  hastened  up  to  the  house.  It 
was  past  ten  o'clock  and  I  would  be  over  an  hour  late 
at  the  bank.  A  fine  beginning  for  my  first  day  in  charge 
of  the  institution ! 

The  dining-room  door  was  open,  but  no  one  was  in 

376 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  dining-room.  The  kitchen  door,  however,  was  shut 
and  from  behind  it  I  heard  Dorinda's  voice. 

'•You  can  get  right  out  of  this  house,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  care  if  you've  got  a  mortgage  on  the  rest  of  the 
Cape!  You  ain't  got  one  on  this  house,  and  you  nor 
nobody  else  shall  stay  in  it  and  talk  that  way.  There's 
the  door." 

"Dorindy!"  wailed  another  voice — Lute's.  "You 
mustn't  talk  so — to  him !  Don't  you  realize " 

"I  realize  that  if  I  had  a  husband  instead  of  a  jelly 
fish  I  shouldn't  have  to  talk.  Be  still,  you!" 

A  third  voice  made  itself  heard. 

"All  right,"  it  growled.  "I  ain't  anxious  to  stay  here 
any  longer  than  is  necessary.  Bein'  an  honest,  decent 
man,  I'm  ashamed  to  be  seen  here  as  it  is.  But  you  caa 
tell  that  low-lived  sneak,  Ros  Paine,  that " 

I  opened  the  door. 

"You  may  tell  him  yourself,  Captain  Dean,"  said  I. 
"What  is  it?" 


377 


CHAPTER  XX 

MY  unexpected  entrance  caused  a  sensation.  Lute, 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  kitchen 
chairs,  an  agonized  expression  on  his  face, 
started  so  violently  that  he  almost  lost  his  balance.  Do 
rinda,,  standing  with  her  back  toward  me,  turned  quickly. 
Captain  Jedediah  Dean,  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
door  opening  to  the  back  yard,  showed  the  least  evidence 
of  surprise.  He  did  not  start,  nor  did  he  speak,  but 
looked  at  me  with  a  countenance  as  grim  and  set  and 
immovable  as  if  it  had  been  cast  in  a  mould. 

Lute,  characteristically  enough,  uttered  the  first  word. 

"By  time!"  he  gasped.  "It's  Ros  himself!  Ros — 
Ros,  you  know  what  he  says?"  He  pointed  a  shaking- 
finger  at  the  captain.  "He  says  you " 

"Keep  still!"  Dorinda  struck  her  palms  together  with 
a  slap,  as  if  her  husband  had  been  what  she  often  called 
him,  a  parrot.  Then,  without  another  glance  in  his  di 
rection,  she  stepped  backward  and  took  her  stand  beside 
me. 

"I'm  real  glad  to  see  you  home  safe  and  sound,  Ros- 
coe,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"Thank  you,  Dorinda.  Now,  Captain  Dean,  I  believe 
you  were  sending  a  message  to  me  just  now.  I  am  here 
and  you  can  deliver  it.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say?" 

Before  he  could  answer  Dorinda  spoke  once  more. 

"Lute,"  she  said,  "you  come  along  with  me  into  the 
dinin'-room." 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 
'But— but,  Dorindy,  I " 


"You  come  with  me.  This  ain't  any  of  my  business 
any  more,  and  it  never  was  any  of  yours.  Come !  move !" 

Lute  moved,  but  so  slowly  that  his  progress  to  the 
door  took  almost  a  full  minute.  His  wife  paid  no  heed 
to  the  pleading  looks  he  gave  her  and  stood  majestically 
waiting  until  he  passed  her  and  crossed  the  sill.  Then 
she  turned  to  me. 

"If  you  want  me,  just  speak,"  she  said.  "I  shall  be 
in  the  dining-room.  There  ain't  no  need  for  Comfort 
to  know  about  this.  She  doesn't  know  that  you've  been 
away  and  hasn't  been  worried  at  all.  I'll  look  out  for 
her.  Lute'll  be  with  me,  so  you  needn't  fret  about  him, 
either." 

She  closed  the  door. 

"Now,  Captain  Dean,"  I  repeated,  "what  is  it  you  have 
to  say?" 

The  captain's  grim  mouth  twisted  in  a  savage  sneer. 

"You  know  what  I'm  goin'  to  say  as  well  as  I  do,"  he 
answered. 

"Possibly,  but  you  had  better  say  it." 

"It  won't  take  me  long.  You've  sold  that  Shore  Lane 
land  to  Jim  Colton,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes." 

My  calm  affirmative  seemed  to  astonish  him.  I  think 
he  expected  a  denial.  His  hand  left  the  doorknob  and 
he  stepped  toward  me. 

"You — have!"  he  cried.  "You  don't  even  take  the 
trouble  to —  You  have  the  face  to  stand  there  and  tell 

•me*——" 

He  almost  choked. 

"Captain  Dean,"  I  interrupted,  quickly,  "wait  a  mo 
ment.  Listen  to  me.  I  have  sold  Colton  the  land.  I 
did  not  intend  selling  it  at  all,  least  of  all  to  him,  but 

379 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

circumstances  compelled  me  to  change  my  mind.  I  did  it 
because  I  was  obliged  to.  It  is  done.  I  am  sorry  I 
had  to  do  it,  but,  under  the  same  conditions,  I  should 
do  it  again.  I  am  not  ashamed." 

He  leaned  forward,  steadying  himself  with  a  hand 
upon  the  table,  and  stared  at  me. 

"You  ain't  ashamed?"  he  repeated.  "You  ain't 
ashamed !  Why,  you —  Didn't  you  tell  me  you'd  never 
sell  that  land?  Didn't  you  promise  me?" 

"I  did  not  promise  anything.  At  first  I  promised  not 
to  sell  without  letting  you  know  of  my  intention.  After 
ward  I  took  back  that  promise." 

"But  why  did  you  sell?  You  said  it  wan't  a  question 
of  price  at  all.  You  made  your  brags  that  it  wan't !  To 
me,  over  and  over,  you  made  'em.  And  then  you  sneak 

off  and " 

'  "Stop !     I  did  think  it  was  not  a  question  of  price. 
Then  I  found  out  that  it  was." 

He  clenched  his  fist. 

"Damn  you !"  he  shouted,  furiously.  "You  liar !  You 
sneak !  After  I " 

"That  is  enough,  Captain.  This  has  gone  far  enough. 
I  have  sold  the  land — for  what  seemed  to  me  a  good 
reason — and  your  calling  me  names  will  not  change  the 
situation.  I  don't  care  to  hear  them.  You  had  better 
go." 

"Whatf 

"I  say  you  had  better  go." 

"/  go?    You'll  put  me  out?" 

"No,  certainly  not.  But  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  a  quarrel,  and  so,  for  both  our  sakes,  I  think  you  had 
better  go  away." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  he  would  strike  me.  Then 
his  fist  fell  heavily  upon  the  table.  His  lips  were  quiver- 

380 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ing  like  those  of  an  infirm  person.  He  looked  old,  and 
I  had  never  before  considered  him  an  old  man. 

"What  made  you  do  it  ?"  he  cried,  desperately.  "What 
made  you  do  it?  Is  it  all  settled?  Can't  you  back  out?" 

"No." 

"But — but  why  didn't  you  sell  to  me — to  the  town? 
If  you  had  to  sell  why  didn't  you  do  that?  Why  did  you 
go  to  him?" 

"Because  he  would  pay  me  what  I  needed ;  because  his 
price  was  higher  than  any  you  or  the  town  could  offer." 

"How  did  you  know  that?  My  heavens  above!  I'd 
have  paid — I'd  have  paid  most  anything — out  of  my 
own  pocket,  I  would.  I  tell  you  this  meant  everything 
to  me.  I'm  gettin'  along  in  years.  I  ain't  been  any  too- 
well  liked  here  in  Denboro,  and  I  knew  it.  You  think 
that  didn't  make  no  difference  to  me,  maybe  I  pretended 
it  didn't,  but  it  did ;  by  the  Almighty,  it  did !  I  intended 
for  folks  to  be  thankful  to  me  for — I —  Oh,  why  did 
you  do  it,  Ros?" 

I  shook  my  head.  I  was  sorry  for  him  now — sorry 
and  astonished.  He  had  given  me  a  glimpse  of  the  real 
Jedediah  Dean,  not  the  pompous,  loud-voiced  town  poli 
tician  and  boss,  but  the  man  desirous  of  fighting  his  way 
into  the  esteem  and  liking  of  his  neighbors. 

"I'm  sorry,  Captain,"  I  said.  "If  I  had  known — if  I 
had  had  time  to  think,  perhaps  I  might  have  acted  dif 
ferently.  But  I  had  no  time.  I  found  that  I  must  have 
the  money  which  that  land  would  bring  and  that  I  had 
to  have  it  immediately.  So  I  went  where  I  knew  I  could 
get  it." 

"Money?  You  needed  money?  Why  didn't  you 
come  to  me?  I'd  have  lent  it  to  you." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  me.    What  do  you  cal'late  I've  been  backin'  you 

381 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

all  this  summer  for?    What  did  I  get  you  that  job  in 
my  bank  for?" 

"You?    George  Taylor  engaged  me  for  that  place." 

"Maybe  so.  But  do  you  suppose  he  did  it  on  his  own 
hook?  He  couldn't  hire  you  unless  the  directors  said  so 
and  the  directors  don't  say  anything,  the  majority  of 
'em,  unless  I  say  it  first.  7  put  the  notion  in  George's 
head.  He  didn't  know  it,  but  I  did.  And  I  put  it  in 
the  directors'  heads,  too.  Ros  Paine,  I  always  liked  you, 
though  I  did  use  to  think  you  was  a  gentleman  loafer. 
There  was  a  somethin'  about  you  even  then,  a  kind  of 
hands-off,  mind  your  own  business  independence  about 
you  that  I  liked,  though  I  knew  mighty  well  you  never 
liked  me.  And  after  you  and  me  got  together  on  this 
Lane  thing  I  liked  you  more  and  more.  You  could 
tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil  as  well  as  you  could  anybody 
else,  and  I'll  shake  hands  with  a  feller  that'll  do  that.  I 
always  wanted  a  boy  of  my  own.  Nellie's  a  good  girl, 
no  better  afloat  or  ashore,  but  she  is  a  girl.  George  is 
a  good  feller,  too,  but  somehow,  or  'nother,  I'd  come  to 
think  of  you  as  the  kind  of  son  I'd  have  had,  if  the 
Almighty  had  give  me  one.  Oh,  what  did  you  do  this 
for?" 

I  could  not  answer.  He  had  overwhelmed  me.  I 
never  felt  meaner  or  more  wicked.  I  had  been  ready 
to  face  him,  ready  for  the  interview  with  him  which  I 
knew  was  inevitable  and  which  I  had  foreseen,  but  not 
this  kind  of  an  interview. 

He  took  his  hand  from  the  table  and  stood  erect. 

"Money!"  he  said.  "You  wanted  money.  You  must 
have  wanted  it  bad.  What  did  you  want  it  for?" 

"I  can't  tell  you." 

"You  had  better.  It's  your  only  chance,  I  tell  you 
that!" 

382 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  can't  help  it,  Captain  Dean.  I  can't  tell  you.  I 
wish  I  could." 

He  regarded  me  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then :  "All 
right,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "I'm  through  with  you,  Ros 
Paine.  In  one  way  I'm  through  with  you.  In  another 
I  ain't.  I  cal'late  you  was  figgerin'  to  go  straight  up 
to  the  bank,  as  bold  as  brass,  and  set  down  at  George 
Taylor's  desk  and  draw  your  wages  like  an  honest  man. 
Don't  you  ever  dare  set  foot  in  that  bank  again.  You're 
fired  !  bounced !  kicked  out !  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"Very  well;  I  understand." 

"You  will  understand,  whether  you  do  now  or  not. 
Colton's  got  the  Shore  Lane  and  you've  got  his  dirty 
money  in  your  pocket.  He's  paid  you,  but  the  town 
ain't.  The  town  you  sold  out  ain't  paid  you — but  I'm. 
goin'  to  see  that  it  does.  Ros  Paine,  I'm  goin'  to  drive 
you  out  of  Denboro." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  strode  to  the  door,  went  out, 
and  slammed  it  behind  him. 

I  went  back  to  the  dining-room.  Lute  was  nowhere  in 
sight,  but  Dorinda  was  standing  by  the  mantel,  dusting, 
as  usual,  where  there  was  no  dust.  I  did  not  speak  but 
walked  toward  the  door  leading  to  the  stairs.  Dorinda 
stepped  in  front  of  me. 

"Roscoe,"  she  said,  sharply,  "can  he  do  it?" 

"Do  it?"  I  repeated.     "What  do  you  meat??" 

"Can  he  give  you  your  walknr  papers  at  that  bank? 
Oh,  I  heard  him!  I  tried  not  to,  but  he  hollered  so  I 
couldn't  help  it.  That  kitchen  door  ain't  much  thicker  n 
a  sheet  of  paper,  anyhow.  Can  he  do  it?" 

"I  guess  so.    He  seems  to  be  boss  of  that  institution.'* 

"But  can't  'Lisha  Warren  or  some  of  the  other  direc 
tors  help  you?  Jed  Dean  don't  boss  'Lisha  Warren — 
not  much." 

383 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I  shan't  ask  for  help.  Please  don't  trouble  me,  Do- 
rinda." 

I  tried  to  pass  her,  but  she  would  not  permit  it. 

"I  shan't  trouble  you,  Ros,"  she  said.  "I  guess  you've 
got  troubles  enough  without  me.  But  you  let  me  ask 
you  this :  Are  you  goin'  to  let  him  drive  you  out  of 
town?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "It  may  not  take  much 
driving,"  I  announced,  listlessly,  "if  it  were  not  for 
Mother  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  go." 

Again  I  tried  to  pass,  but  this  time  she  seized  my  arm. 

"Roscoe  Paine,"  she  cried,  "don't  you  talk  like  that. 
I  don't  want  to  hear  another  word  like  that.  Don't  you 
let  Jed  Dean  or  nobody  else  drive  you  out  of  Denboro. 
You  ain't  done  nothin'  to  be  ashamed  of,  have  you?" 

"I  sold  that  land  to  Mr.  Colton.  I  don't  know  how 
Captain  Jed  found  it  out,  but  it  is  true  enough ;  I  did 
exactly  what  he  said  I  did." 

"Found  out !  He  found  out  from  somebody  over  to 
Ostable  where  the  deed  was  recorded,  that  is  how  he 
found  out.  He  said  so.  But  I  don't  care  for  that.  And 
I  don't  care  if  you  sold  the  Lane  ten  times  over.  You 
didn't  do  it  for  any  mean  or  selfish  reason,  that  I  know. 
There  ain't  a  selfish  bone  in  your  body,  Roscoe.  I've 
lived  along  with  you  all  these  years  and  I  know.  No 
body  that  was  mean  or  selfish  would  give  up  their 
chances  in  life  and  stay  here  in  this  one-hoss  town  be 
cause  his  ma  was  sick  and  had  took  a  notion  that  she 
couldn't  bear  to  part  with  him.  Don't  you  mind  Jed 
Dean — pig-headed  old  thing! — or  anybody  else  in  Den 
boro.  Hold  up  your  head  and  show  'em  you  don't  care 
for  the  whole  caboodle  of  'em.  Let  'em  talk  and  act  like 
fools,  if  they  want  to.  It  comes  natural  to  most  of  'em, 
I  cal'late,  and  they'll  be  sorry  some  day.  Don't  you 

384 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

let  'em  drive  you  out.  They  won't  come  inside  this  house 
with  their  talk,  not  while  I'm  here,  I  tell  you  that !" 

Her  eyes,  behind  the  brass-rimmed  spectacles,  flashed 
fire.  This  was  the  longest  speech  I  had  ever  heard  her 
make. 

"There,  Dorinda,"  I  said,  smiling,  "don't  worry  on  my 
account.  I'm  not  worth  it.  And,  whatever  I  do,  I  shall 
see  that  you  and  Lute  are  provided  for." 

Instead  of  calming  her  this  statement  seemed  to  have 
the  exactly  opposite  effect. 

"Stop  it !"  she  snapped.  "The  idea !  Do  you  suppose 
it's  for  myself  I'm  talkin'  this  way  to  you?  I  guess 
'tain't !  My  soul !  I'll  look  out  for  myself,  and  Lute,  too, 
long's  I'm  able  to  walk;  and  when  I  can't  walk  'twill 
be  because  I've  stopped  breathin'.  It's  for  you  I'm  talk- 
in',  for  you  and  Comfort.  Think  of  her." 

I  sighed.  "I  have  been  thinking  of  her,  Dorinda,"  I 
declared.  "She  doesn't  know  a  word  about  this." 

"Then  tell  her." 

"I  can't  tell  her  my  reason  for  selling,  any  more  than 
I  can  tell  you — or  Dean." 

"Tell  her  what  you  can,  then.  Tell  her  as  much  of 
the  truth  as  you  can.  She'll  say  you  done  right,  of 
course.  Whatever  you  do  is  right  to  her." 

I  made  no  reply.    She  regarded  me  keenly. 

"Roscoe,"  she  went  on,  "do  you  want  to  go  some- 
wheres  else?" 

"I  don't  know,  Dorinda.  I  might  as  well  be  here  as 
anywhere,  perhaps.  I  am  rather  blue  and  discouraged 
just  now,  that's  all." 

"I  can't  blame  you  much.  But  bein'  discouraged  don't 
do  any  good.  Besides,  it's  always  darkest  just  afon 
dawn,  they  say;  anyhow,  I've  had  that  preached  to  m« 
ever  since  I  was  a  girl  and  I've  tried  to  believe  it 

385 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

through  a  good  many  cloudy  spells.  Roscoe,  don't  you 
let  old  Jed  or  anybody  drive  you  out  of  Denboro,  but,  if 
you  want  to  go — if  you  think  you'd  ought  to  go,  to  earn 
money  or  anything,  don't  you  worry  about  leavin'  Com 
fort.  I'll  look  out  for  her  as  well  as  if  she  was  my  own. 
Remember  that." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  hers.  "Thank  you,"  I  said,  ear 
nestly.  "Dorinda,  you  are  a  good  woman." 

To  my  surprise  the  eyes  behind  the  spectacles  became 
misty.  Tears  in  Dorinda's  eyes!  When  she  spoke  it 
was  in,  for  her,  a  curiously  hesitating  tone. 

"Roscoe,"  she  faltered,  "I  wonder  if  you'd  be  cross  if 
I  asked  about  what  wan't  any  of  my  business.  I'm  old 
enough  to  be  your  grandma,  pretty  nigh,  so  I'm  goin'  to 
risk  it.  You  used  to  be  independent  enough.  You  never 
used  to  care  for  the  town  or  anybody  in  it.  Lately  you've 
changed.  Changed  in  a  good  many  ways.  Is  somethin' 
besides  this  Lane  affair  frettin'  you?  Is  somebody  fret- 
tin'  you?  Are  you  worried  about — that  one?" 

She  had  caught  me  unawares.  I  felt  the  blood  tingle 
in  my  cheeks.  I  tried  to  laugh  and  made  a  failure  of 
the  attempt. 

"That  one?"  I  repeated.  "I—  Why,  I  don't  under 
stand,  Dorinda." 

"Don't  you?  Well,  if  you  don't  then  I'm  just  talkin' 
silly,  that's  all.  If  you  do,  I  ....  Humph!  I 
might  have  known  it!" 

She  turned  like  a  shot  and  jerked  the  door  open. 
There  was  a  rattle,  a  series  of  thumps,  and  a  crash.  Lute 
was  sprawling  upon  the  floor  at  our  feet.  I  gazed  at  him 
in  open-mouthed  astonishment.  Dorinda  sniffed  scorn 
fully. 

"I  might  have  known  it,"  she  repeated.  "Sittin'  on  the 
stairs  there,  listenin',  wan't  you  ?" 

386 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Lute  raised  himself  to  his  knees. 

"I  think,"  he  panted,  "I — I  swan !  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  I'd  broke  my  leg!" 

"Um-hm !  Well,  if  you'd  broke  your  neck  'twouldn't 
have  been  no  more'n  you  deserve.  Shame  on  you! 
Sneakin'  thing!" 

"Now,  Dorindy,  I — I  wan't  listenin'.    I  was  just " 

"Don't  talk  to  me.  Don't  you  open  your  mouth.  And 
if  you  open  it  to  anybody  else  about  what  you  heard  I'll 
— I  declare  I'll  shut  you  up  in  the  dark  closet  and  keep 
you  there,  as  if  you  was  three  year  old.  Sometimes  I 
think  your  head  ain't  any  older  than  that.  Go  right  out 
of  this  house." 

"But  where'll  I  go?" 

"I  don't  care  where  you  go.  Only  don't  let  me  set 
eyes  on  you  till  dinner  time.  March !" 

Lute  backed  away  as  she  advanced,  waving  both  his 
hands  and  pleading  and  expostulating. 

"Dorindy,  I  tell  you  .  .  .  What  makes  you  so  un 
likely?  ...  I  was  just  .  .  .  All  right  then," 
desperately,  "I'll  go!  And  if  you  never  set  eyes  on  me 
again  'twon't  be  my  fault.  You'll  be  sorry  then.  If  you 
never  see  me  no  more  you'll  be  sorry." 

"I'll  set  eyes  on  you  at  dinner  time.  I  ain't  afraid 
of  that.  Git!" 

She  followed  him  to  the  kitchen  and  then  returned. 

"Ah  hum!"  she  sighed,  "it's  pretty  hard  to  remember 
that  about  darkest  just  afore  dawn  when  you  have  a  bur 
den  like  that  on  your  shoulders  to  lug  through  life.  It's 
night  most  of  the  time  then.  Poor  critter!  he  means 
well  enough,  too.  And  once  he  was  a  likely  enough 
young  feller,  though  shiftless,  even  then.  But  he  had  a 
long  spell  of  fever  three  year  after  we  was  married  and 
he's  never  been  good  for  much  since.  I  try  to  remem- 

387 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

ber  that,  and  to  be  patient  with  him,  but  it's  a  pretty 
hard  job  sometimes." 

She  sighed  again.  I  had  often  wondered  how  a  woman 
of  her  sense  could  have  married  Luther  Rogers.  Now 
she  was  telling  me. 

"I  never  really  cared  for  him,"  she  went  on,  looking 
toward  the  door  through  which  the  discomfited  eaves 
dropper  had  made  his  exit.  "There  was  somebody  else 
I  did  care  for,  but  he  and  I  quarreled,  and  I  took  Luther 
out  of  spite  and  because  my  folks  wanted  me  to.  I've 
paid  for  it  since.  Roscoe,"  earnestly,  "Roscoe,  if  you 
care  for  anybody  and  she  cares  for  you,  don't  let  any 
thing  keep  you  apart.  If  she's  worth  a  million  or  fifty 
cents  that  don't  make  any  difference.  It  shouldn't  be  a 
matter  of  her  folks  or  your  folks  or  money  or  pride  or 
anything  else.  It's  a  matter  for  just  you  and  her.  And 
if  you  love  each  other,  that's  enough.  I  tell  you  so,  and 
I  know." 

I  was  more  astonished  than  ever.  I  could  scarcely  be 
lieve  that  this  was  the  dry,  practical  Dorinda  Rogers  who 
had  kept  house  for  Mother  and  me  all  these  years.  And 
with  my  astonishment  were  other  feelings,  feelings  which 
warned  me  that  I  had  better  make  my  escape  before  I 
was  trapped  into  betraying  that  which,  all  the  way  home 
from  Mackerel  Island,  I  had  been  swearing  no  one 
should  ever  know.  I  would  not  even  admit  it  to  myself, 
much  less  to  anyone  else. 

I  did  not  look  at  Dorinda,  and  my  answer  to  her  long 
speech  was  as  indifferent  and  careless  as  I  could  make 
it. 

"Thank  you,  Dorinda/'  I  said.  "I'll  remember  your 
advice,  if  I  ever  need  it,  which  isn't  likely.  Now  I  must 
go  to  my  room  and  change  my  clothes.  These  are  too 
badly  wrinkled  to  be  becoming." 

388 


THE    RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

When  I  came  down,  after  an  absence  of  half  an  hour, 
she  was  sitting  by  the  window,  sewing. 

"Comfort's  waitin'  to  see  you,  Roscoe,"  she  said.  "I've 
told  her  all  about  it." 

"You've  told  her — what?"  I  demanded,  in  amazement. 

"About  your  sellin'  the  Lane  and  losin'  your  job,  and 
BO  on.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  'Twas  the  only  com 
mon-sense  thing  to  do.  She'd  heard  old  Leather-Lungs 
whoopin'  out  there  in  the  kitchen  and  she'd  heard  you 
and  me  talkin'  here  in  the  dinin'-room.  I  hoped  she  was 
asleep,  but  she  wan't.  After  you  went  upstairs  she 
called  for  me  and  wanted  to  know  the  whole  story.  I  told 
her  what  I  knew  of  it.  Now  you  can  tell  her  the  rest. 
She  takes  it  just  as  I  knew  she  would.  You  done  it  and 
so  it's  all  right." 

"Roscoe,  is  that  you?" 

It  was  Mother  calling  me.  I  went  into  the  darkened 
room  and  sat  down  beside  the  bed. 

She  and  I  had  much  to  say  to  each  other.  This 
iime  I  kept  back  nothing,  except  my  reason  for  selling 
the  land.  I  told  her  frankly  that  that  reason  was  a 
secret,  and  that  it  must  remain  a  secret,  even  from 
her. 

"I  hate  to  say  that  to  you,  Mother/'  I  told  her.  "You 
don't  know  how  I  hate  it.  I  would  tell  you  if  I  could." 

She  pressed  my  hand.  "I  know  you  would,  Roscoe," 
she  said.  "I  am  quite  content  not  to  know.  That  your 
reason  for  selling  was  an  honorable  one,  that  is  all  I 
ask." 

"It  was  that,  Mother." 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  But,"  hesitatingly,  "can  you  tell  me- 
this :  You  did  not  do  it  because  you  needed  money — for 
me?  Our  income  is  the  same  as  ever?  We  have  not 
with  losses  ?" 

389 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"No,  Mother.  Our  income  is  the  same  that  it  has 
been  for  years." 

"Then  it  was  not  because  of  me ;  because  you  felt  that 
I  should  have  those  'luxuries'  you  talk  about  so  often? 
Oh,  I  don't  need  them,  Roscoe!  I  really  don't.  I  am — 
I  scarcely  dare  say  it  for  fear  it  may  not  be  true — but  I 
think  I  am  better  than  I  have  been.  I  feel  stronger." 

"I  know  you  are  better,  Mother.  Doctor  Quimby  is 
very  much  encouraged." 

"Is  he  ?  I  am  so  glad !  For  your  sake,  Boy.  Per 
haps  the  time  will  come  when  I  may  not  be  your  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea  as  I  am  now.  But  you  did  not  sell  the 
land  because  of  me?" 

"No." 

"You  did  not  sell  it  for  yourself,  that  I  know.  I  won 
der  .  .  .  But,  there !  I  mustn't  wonder,  and  I  won't. 
Captain  Dean  was  very  angry  and  unreasonable,  Dorinda 
says.  I  suppose  his  pride  is  hurt.  I'm  afraid  he  will 
make  it  unpleasant  for  you  in  the  village." 

"He  will  do  his  best,  I'm  sure  of  that." 

"You  poor  boy!  As  if  you  did  not  have  enough  to 
bear  without  that !  He  has  asked  you  to  resign  from  the 
bank?" 

I  smiled.  "He  has  pitched  me  out,  neck  and  crop,"  I 
answered.  "I  expected  that,  of  course." 

"But  what  will  you  do?  Can't  Mr.  Taylor  help  you? 
Perhaps  he  will  use  his  influence  with  the  captain." 

"I  don't  need  his  influence,  Mother.  I  took  the  place 
merely  because  of  a  whim.  Now  that  I  have  lost  it  I 
am  no  worse  off  than  I  was  before." 

"But  you  enjoyed  the  work?" 

"Yes." 

I  was  only  beginning  to  realize  how  much  I  had  en 
joyed  it.  I  sighed,  involuntarily. 

390 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Mother  heard  the  sigh  and  the  pressure  of  her  hand 
on  mine  tightened. 

"Poor  boy !"  she  said  again.  Then,  after  a  moment,  "I 
wish  I  might  talk  with  Miss  Colton  about  this." 

I  started  violently.  What  had  put  that  idea  in  her 
head? 

"Miss  Colton!"  I  exclaimed.  "Mother,  whatever  you 
do,  don't  speak  to  her — about  me." 

"Why  not?  She  has  not  called  on  us  for  some  time, 
but  she  is  interested  in  you,  I  know.  And  perhaps  her 
father  could " 

"Mother,  don't." 

She  was  silent  for  an  instant.  Then  she  said,  quietly. 
"Boy,  what  is  it?  Is  there  something  else  you  haven't 
told  me?  Something  about — her?" 

"No,  no,"  I  stammered. 

"Isn't  there  ?    Are  you  sure  ?" 

I  do  not  know  what  reply  I  should  have  made.  Her 
question,  coming  so  close  upon  the  heels  of  Dorinda's 
hints,  upset  me  completely.  Was  it  written  upon  my 
face,  for  everyone  to  see  ?  Did  I  look  the  incredible  idiot 
that  I  knew  myself  to  be  ?  For  I  did  know  it.  In  spite 
of  my  determination  not  to  admit  it  even  in  my  inner 
most  thoughts,  I  knew.  I  was  in  love  with  Mabel  Col 
ton — madly,  insanely,  hopelessly  in  love  with  her,  and 
should  be  until  my  dying  day.  I  had  played  with  fire  too 
long. 

Before  I  could  answer  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
It  opened  and  Dorinda's  head  appeared.  She  seemed,  for 
her,  excited. 

"There's  somebody  to  see  you,  Ros,"  she  said.  "You'd 
better  come  out  soon's  you  can.  He's  in  a  hurry." 

"Someone  to  see  me,"  I  repeated.    "Who  is  it?" 

Dorinda  glanced  at  Mother  and  then  at  me.    She  did 

391 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

not  so  much  as  whisper,  but  her  lips  formed  a  name.  I 
rose  from  my  chair. 

Mother  looked  at  me  and  then  at  Dorinda. 

"Who  is  it,  Roscoe?"  she  asked. 

"Just  a  caller  on  a  business  matter,"  I  answered,  hur 
riedly.  "I'll  be  out  at  once,  Dorinda." 

"But  who  is  it,  Roscoe?" 

"It's  Mr.  Colton,  Mother.  He  has  probat'y  come 
^.^  » 

"Dorinda,"  Mother  interrupted  me,  "ask  Mr.  Colton 
to  come  in  here." 

"But,  Mother " 

"Ask  him  to  come  in  here,  Dorinda.  I  should  like  to 
meet  him." 

Dorinda  hesitated,  but  when  Mother  spoke  in  that  tone 
none  of  us  hesitated  long.  She  disappeared.  A  moment 
later  the  door  opened  wide  and  Colton  entered.  The 
sudden  transition  from  sunlight  to  semidarkness  bewil 
dered  him  for  a  moment,  doubtless,  for  he  stood  there 
without  speaking.  Dorinda,  who  had  ushered  him  in, 
went  out  and  closed  the  door.  I  stepped  forward. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Colton,"  I  said,  as  calmly  as  I 
could.  "You  have  never  met  my  mother,  I  think. 
Mother,  this  is  Mr.  Colton,  our  neighbor." 

Colton  turned  toward  the  bed  and  murmured  a  few 
•words.  For  once,  I  think,  he  was  startled  out  of  his  cus 
tomary  cool  self-possession.  And  when  Mother  spoke  it 
seemed  to  me  that  she,  too,  was  disturbed. 

"Roscoe,"  she  said,  quickly,  "will  you  draw  that  win 
dow-shade  a  little  more?  The  light  is  rather  strong. 
Thank  you.  Mr.  Colton,  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you.  I 
have  heard  of  you  often,  of  course,  and  I  have  met  your 
daughter.  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  in  many  ways. 
"Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

392 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

I  drew  forward  a  chair.    Our  visitor  accepted  it. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Paine,"  he  said.  "I  will  sit.  To  bv 
honest,  I'm  very  glad  of  the  opportunity.  I  havt  been 
under  the  doctor's  care  for  the  past  few  weeks  s»nd  last 
night's  performance  is  not  the  best  sort  of  treatment  for 
a  tender  digestion.  The  doctor  told  me  what  I  needed 
was  rest  and  sleep  and  freedom  from  care.  I  told  him 
I  probably  shouldn't  get  the  last  item  till  I  was  dead.  As 
for  the  rest — and  sleep —  Humph !"  with  a  short  laugh, 
"I  wonder  what  he  would  have  said  if  he  had  seen  me 
last  night." 

Mother's  face  was  turned  away  from  him  on  the  pil 
low.  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  been  ill,  Mr. 
Colton,"  she  said. 

"Ill !  I'm  not  ill.  I  have  never  been  side  in  my  life 
and  I  don't  propose  to  begin  now.  If  the  crowd  in  New 
York  would  let  me  alone  I  should  be  all  right  enough. 
There  is  a  deal  on  there  that  is  likely  to  come  to  a  head 
pretty  soon  and  my  people  at  the  office  are  nervous. 
They  keep  'phoning  and  telegraphing  and  upsetting 
things  generally.  I'll  have  to  run  over  there  myself  in 
a  day  or  two  and  straighten  it  out.  But  there !  I  didn't 
come  here  to  worry  you  with  my  troublts.  I  feel  as  if  I 
knew  you,  Mrs.  Paine." 

"Knew  me  ?    Knew  me,  Mr.  Colton  ?" 

"Yes.  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure*  of  meeting  you 
before,  but  my  daughter  has  spoken  of  you  often.  She 
is  a  great  admirer  of  yours.  I  won't  -tell  you  all  the 
nice  things  she  has  said  about  you,  for  s>he  has  probably 
said  them  to  you  or  to  your  son,  already." 

"You  should  be  very  proud  of  your  daughter,  Mr.  Col 
ton.  She  is  a  charming  girl." 

"Thanks.  Just  among  us  three  I'll  admit,  in  confi 
dence,  that  I  think  you're  right.  And  I'll  admit,  too,  that 

393 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

you  have  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  son,  Mrs.  Paine. 
He  is  inclined  to  be,"  with  a  glance  in  my  direction,  "a 
little  too  stubborn  and  high-principled  for  this  practical 
world,  but,"  with  a  chuckle,  "he  can  be  made  to  listen  to 
reason,  if  you  give  him  time  enough.  That  is  so,  isn't 
it,  Paine?" 

I  did  not  answer.    Mother  spoke  for  me. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Colton,"  she 
said,  quietly.  "I  presume  you  are  referring  to  the  sale  of 
the  land.  I  do  not  know  why  Roscoe  changed  his  mind 
in  that  matter,  but  I  do  know  that  his  reason  was  a  good 
one,  and  an  honest  one." 

"He  hasn't  told  it  to  you,  then  ?" 

"No.  But  I  know  that  he  thought  it  right  or  he  never 
would  have  sold." 

I  broke  in  here.  I  did  not  care  to  hear  my  own  praises. 

"Did  you  call  to  discuss  the  Shore  Lane,  Mr.  Colton?" 
I  inquired.  "I  thought  that  affair  settled." 

"It  is.  No,  I  didn't  come  to  discuss  that.  Mrs.  Paine, 
I  don't  know  why  your  son  sold  me  that  land,  but  I'm 
inclined  to  think,  like  you,  that  he  wouldn't  have  done  it 
unless  he  thought  it  was  right.  I  know  mighty  well  he 
wasn't  afraid  of  me.  Oh,  you  needn't  laugh,  young  man. 
There  are  people  in  that  fix,  plenty  of  'em.  No,  I  didn't 
come  to  talk  'Lane.'  That  bird  is  dead.  I  came,  first  of 
all,  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did  for  my  daughter  last 
night." 

Mother  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"For  your  daughter?  Last  night?  Roscoe,  what  does 
he  mean?" 

"Nothing,  Mother,  nothing,"  I  said,  hastily.  "I  was 
unlucky  enough  to  run  the  Comfort  into  Miss  Colton's 
canoe  in  the  bay  yesterday  afternoon  in  the  fog.  Fortu 
nately  I  got  her  into  the  launch  and — and " 

394 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"And  saved  her  from  drowning,  then  and  a  dozen 
times  afterward.  He  hasn't  told  you,  Mrs.  Paine?  No, 
I  can  see  that  he  hasn't.  All  right,  I  will.  Paine,  if  your 
ingrowing  modesty  won't  stand  the  pressure  you  had  bet 
ter  leave  the  room.  This  is  about  what  happened,  Mrs. 
Paine,  as  Mabel  tells  it." 

I  tried  to  prevent  him,  but  it  was  no  use.  He  ignored 
me  altogether  and  went  on  to  tell  of  the  collision  in  the 
fog,  the  voyage  across  the  bay,  and  my  telephone  from  the 
lighthouse.  The  story,  as  he  told  it,  magnified  what  he 
called  my  coolness  and  common-sense  to  a  ridiculous  ex 
tent.  I  lost  patience  as  I  listened. 

"Mr.  Colton,"  I  interrupted,  "this  is  silly.  Mother, 
the  whole  affair  was  more  my  fault  than  my  good  judg 
ment.  If  I  had  anchored  when  it  first  happened  we 
should  have  been  home  in  an  hour,  instead  of  drifting  all 
night." 

"Why  didn't  you  anchor,  then  ?"  asked  Colton. 

"Because  I— I " 

I  stopped  short.  I  could  not  tell  him  why  I  did  not 
anchor.  He  laughed  aloud. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "I  guess  Mabel's  story  is 
near  enough  to  the  truth  for  all  practical  purposes.  Mrs. 
Paine,"  with  a  sudden  change  to  seriousness,  "you  can 
understand  why  I  have  come  here  this  morning.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  your  son's  pluck,  and  cool  head,  and 
good  judgment  I — Mrs.  Colton  and  I  might  have  been — 
God  knows  in  what  state  we  might  have  been  to-day! 
God  knows !  I  can't  think  of  it." 

His  voice  trembled.  Mother  put  out  a  hand  and  took 
mine. 

"Roscoe,"  she  said,  "Roscoe." 

"So  I  came  to  thank  him,"  went  on  our  visitor.  "This 
isn't  the  first  time  he  has  done  something  of  the  sort.  It 

395 


THE   RIS*,   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

seems  almost  as  if  he — But  never  mind  that.  I'm  not 
going  to  be  foolish.  Your  son  and  I,  Mrs.  Paine,  have 
been  fighting  each  other  most  of  the  summer.  That's  all 
right.  It  was  a  square  fight  and,  until  this  newest  freak 
of  his — and  ht  has  got  me  guessing  as  to  what  it  means — 
I  admit  I  thought  he  was  quite  as  likely  to  lick  me  as  I 
was  to  lick  him.  I've  watched  him  pretty  closely  and  I 
am  a  pretty  fair  judge  of  a  man,  I  flatter  myself.  Did 
he  tell  you  that,  a  while  ago,  I  offered  him  a  place  in 
my  office?" 

"In  your  office?  You  offered  him  that?  No,  he  did 
not  tell  me.  Roscoe !"  reproachfully. 

"I  did  not  tell  you,  Mother,  because  it  was  not  worth 
while.  Of  course  I  could  not  accept  the  offer." 

She  hesitated  and,  before  she  spoke,  Colton  broke 
in. 

"Why  not?  That  was  what  you  were  going  to  say, 
Mrs.  Paine,  I  take  it.  That  is  what  /  said — why  not? 
And  I  say  it  again.  Paine,  that  offer  is  still  open." 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  told  you  then  that  I  could  not 
accept/'  I  said.  "It  is  impossible." 

"Why  is  it  impossible?  So  far  as  I  am  concerned  I 
believe  you  would  be  a  mighty  good  investment." 

"Impossible,"  I  said  again. 

"Nothing  is  impossible.  We  won't  waste  words.  I 
am  going  to  be  plain  and  I  think  Mrs.  Paine  will  excuse 
me.  You  think  you  should  not  leave  your  mother, 
perhaps.  I  understand  that  reason.  It  would  be  a  good  one, 
except  that — well,  that  it  isn't  good  any  longer.  Your 
mother  is  much  better  than  she  was.  Quimby — her  doc 
tor  and  mine — says  so.  I  shall  see  that  she  is  well  looked 
after.  If  she  needs  a  nurse  she  shall  have  one,  the  best 
we  can  get.  Oh,  be  still  and  let  me  finish!  You  can 
talk  afterward.  You're  not  going  so  far  away.  New 

396 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

York  isn't  the  end  of  the  earth ;  it  is  only  the  center,  or 
it  thinks  it  is.  You'll  be  in  close  touch  with  Denboro  all 
the  time  and  you  can  come  here  whenever  you  want  to. 
Now  will  you  take  my  offer?" 

"No." 

"Young  man,  if  I  didn't  know  there  were  brains  inside 
that  head  of  yours  I  should  think  it  was,  as  the  boys  say, 
solid  ivory.  ConfovtiJ  you!  Here,  Mrs.  Paine,"  turning 
to  Mjt/,..  '  you  take  him  in  hand.  Tell  him  he  must 
come  wiki  .  ^." 

"Mother — "  I  protested.     He  cut  my  protest  short. 

"Tell  him,"  he  ordered. 

Mother  looked  at  me.  "I  think,  perhaps,  you  should 
accept,  Roscoe,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"Accept !    Mother !" 

"Yes.  I — I  think  you  should.  I  am  sure  everyone  else 
would  think  so.  I  should  not  wish  you  to  do  so  if  Mr. 
Colton  was  merely  trying  to  be  kind,  to  help  you  from 
motives  of  gratitude,  or  charity " 

"Don't  use  that  word,  please,"  snapped  "Big  Jim." 
"When  I  lose  my  mind  I  may  take  to  charity,  but  not 
before.  Charity!  Good  Lord!" 

"But  it  is  not  charity.  I  am  better,  Roscoe;  I  realize 
it  every  day;  and  with  Dorinda  I  shall  get  on  perfectly 
well.  I  have  been  thinking  of  something  like  this  for 
a  long  time.  You  owe  it  to  yourself,  Roscoe.  The 
chance  is  one  that  many  men  would  be  very,  very  glad 
to  have  come  their  way.  I  shall  not  urge  you,  Boy. 
You  must  decide  for  yourself,  and  I  know  you  will ;  but, 
Roscoe,  I  shall  be  quite  contented — yes,  glad  and  proud, 
if  you  say  yes  to  Mr.  Colton." 

The  gentleman  named  nodded  emphatic  approval. 
"That's  the  talk!"  he  exclaimed.  "Mrs.  Paine,  I  con 
gratulate  you  on  your  common-sense." 

397 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  think,  like  you,  that  you  will  have  made  a  good 
investment,  Mr.  Colton,"  was  Mother's  answer. 

I  rose  to  my  feet  This  must  be  ended  now,  for  all 
time. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Colton,"  I  said,  though  not  as  stead 
ily  as  I  could  have  wished.  "I  am  greatly  obliged  to 
you  and  I  realize  that  you  offer  me  an  exceptional  oppor 
tunity,  or  what  would  be  one  for  another  man.  But  I 
cannot  accept." 

"Look  here,  Paine!  I'll  speak  plainer  still.  I  under 
stand  that  that  Shore  Lane  trade  of  ours  has  become 
common  property,  or,  at  any  rate,  it  will  be  common 
property  soon.  If  I  see  the  situation  clearly,  Denboro 
is  likely  to  be  a  rather  unpleasant  place  for  you.  That 
fellow  Dean  has  a  lot  of  influence  here — heaven  knows 
why! — and  he  hates  me  worse  than  Old  Nick  hates 
holy  water.  Oh,  I  know  you're  not  afraid  of  him !  But 
what  is  the  use  of  taking  the  rough  road  when  the 
smooth  one  is  right  before  your  feet?  Say  yes,  and 
let's  end  it." 

"No,"  said  I,  stubbornly.     "No,  Mr.  Colton." 

"You  mean  it?  Very  well,  I  leave  you  in  your 
Mother's  hands.  She  will  probably  bring  you  to  your 
senses  before  long.  Mrs.  Paine,  you  can  handle  him, 
I  have  no  doubt.  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,  and,  with 
your  permission,  I  shall  call  on  you  again.  So  will 
Mabel.  As  for  you,  young  man,  I  thank  you  for  last 
night's  work.  You  will,  perhaps,  accept  thanks  if  you 
refuse  everything  else.  Good  morning." 

He  rose,  bowed,  and  walked  to  the  door.  As  he 
opened  it  he  staggered,  perceptibly.  I  thought,  for  an 
instant,  that  he  was  going  to  fall,  and  I  sprang  to  his 
assistance. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said,  gruffly.     "This  digestion  of 

393 


THE    RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

mine  sets  my  head  spinning  sometimes.  That  doctor 
says  I  shall  upset  completely  unless  I  rest.  I  told  him 
he  was  a  fool  and  I  intend  to  prove  it.  Let  me  be.  I 
can  walk,  I  should  hope.  When  I  can't  I'll  call  the 
ambulance — or  the  hearse.  I'll  find  the  way  out,  my 
self.  Good-by." 

The  door  closed  behind  him. 

"Roscoe,"  said  Mother,  quickly,  "come  here." 

I  turned  toward  her.  She  was  looking  at  me  with 
a  strange  expression. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 

"Roscoe,"  she  whispered,  "I  know  him.  I  have  met 
him  before." 

"Know  him!  You  have  met  Mr.  Colton — before? 
Where?" 

"At  our  home  in  the  old  days.  He  came  there  once 
with — with  your  father.  He  was  our  guest  at  din 
ner." 

I  could  scarcely  believe  it.  Then,  as  the  thought  of 
what  this  might  mean  flashed  to  my  mind,  I  asked 
anxiously : 

"Did  he  know  you,  do  you  think?" 

"No,  I  am  sure  he  did  not.  We  met  but  once  and 
I  have,"  with  a  little  sigh,  "changed  since  then.  But 
I  recognized  him.  The  name  of  Colton  was  familiar 
to  me  when  you  first  mentioned  it,  some  time  ago,  but 
I  did  not  remember  where  I  had  heard  it.  Of  course, 
I  did  not  connect  this  Mr.  Colton  with — that  one." 

I  frowned.  This  complicated  matters  still  more,  and 
further  complications  were  superfluous. 

"And,  knowing  this,  knowing  that  he  might  recog 
nize  you  at  any  time,  you  urged  me  to  accept  his  offer," 
I  said,  reproachfully.  "Mother!" 

"Yes." 

399 


"Mother,  how  can  you?  Would  you  have  me  go  to 
New  York  and  enter  a  banking  house  where,  any  hour 
of  any  day,  I  might  be  recognized  by  some  of  the  men 
I  once  knew?  Where  I  might  expect  at  any  moment 
to  be  called  by  my  real  name?  How  can  you?" 

She  gazed  at  me  earnestly.  "Why  not  tell  him,  Ros- 
coe?"  she  asked. 

I  stared  at  her,  aghast.  "Tell  him !"  I  repeated.  "Tell 
him  who  I  am?  Tell  him  our  story,  the  story  that — 
Mother,  are  you  crazy?" 

"No.  I  believe  I  am  sane,  at  least.  I  have  been  think 
ing  a  great  deal  of  late.  As  I  have  been  growing 
stronger  I  have  been  thinking  more  and  more  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  you  and  I  have  been  right  in  hiding 
here  as  we  have  done.  It  was  all  my  fault,  I  know,  but 
I  was  weak  and — and  I  dreaded  all  the  gossip  and  scan 
dal.  But,  Boy,  it  was  a  mistake.  After  all,  we  have 
done  no  wrong,  you  and  I — we,  personally,  have  noth 
ing  to  be  ashamed  of.  Why  not  end  all  this?  Go  to 
Mr.  Colton,  tell  him  who  you  are,  tell  him  our  story; 
then,  if  he  still  wants  you 

I  interrupted.  "No,  Mother,"  I  said,  "no,  no!  It  is 
impossible.  Even  if  he  knew,  and  it  made  no  difference, 
I  could  not  do  it.  I  may  go  away!  I  may  feel  that 
I  must  go,  if  you  are  well  enough  for  me  to  leave  you, 
but  I  can  not  go  with  him.  I  ought  not  to  see  him 

again.     I  must  not  see  her Oh,  don't  you 

understand?    Mother,  I — I " 

She  understood.  I  had  seized  her  hand  and  now  she 
stroked  it  gently  with  her  own. 

"So  it  is  true,"  she  said,  quietly.  "You  love  her, 
Roscoe." 

"Yes !  yes  !  yes !"  I  answered,  desperately.  "Oh,  don't 
speak  of  it,  Mother!  I  am  insane,  I  think." 

400 


THE    RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"Does  she  care  for  you,  Bo/?  Have  you  spoken  to 
her?" 

"Mother!    Is  it  likely?" 

"But  I  think  she  does  care,  £oscoe.  I  think  she  does. 
She  must." 

This  was  so  characteristic  that,  although  I  was  in 
anything  but  a  laughing  mood,  I  could  not  help  smil 
ing. 

"How  could  she  help  it?  I  presume  you  mean,"  I 
observed,  sarcastically.  "There,  Mother,  don't  worry.  I 
did  not  intend  that  you  or  anyone  else  should  know 
what  an  idiot  I  am,  but  don't  worry — I  shan't  do  any 
thing  ridiculous  or  desperate.  I  may  go  somewhere, 
to  get  away  from  L-^nboro,  and  to  earn  a  living  for 
you  and  me,  but  U\at  is  all.  We  won't  speak  of  her 
again." 

"But  if  she   dens  care,  Boy?" 

"If  she  does —  Of  course,  she  doesn't — but,  if  she 
does,  can't  you  see  that  only  makes  it  worse?  Think 
who  she  is  ana  who  and  what  I  am !  Her  family — 
Humph !  you  have  not  met  her  mother ;  I  have." 

"But  if  she  loves  you " 

"Do  you  think  I  should  permit  her  to  ruin  her  life — 
for  me?" 

"Poor  bey !    I  am  so  sorry !" 

"It  is  all  right,  Mother.  There!  we  won't  be  foolish 
any  longer.  I  am  going  for  a  walk  and  I  want  you 
to  rest.  I  am  glad  we  have  had  this  talk;  it  has  done 
me  good  to  speak  what  I  have  been  thinking.  Good-by. 
I  will  be  back  soon." 

She  would  have  detained  me,  but  I  broke  away  «nd 
Went  «Mit.  My  walk  was  a  long  one.  I  tramped  the 
ieach  for  eight  long  miles  and,  though  one  might  think 
'hi*t  my  adventures  of  the  night  before  had  provided 

401 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

exercise  enough,  this  additional  effort  seemed  to  do  nc 
harm.  I  forgot  dinner  entirely  and  supper  was  on  the 
table  when  I  returned  to  the  house. 

I  found  Dorinda  in  a  condition  divided  between 
anxiety  and  impatience. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  that  man  of  mine?"  she 
demanded.  "I  ain't  seen  hide  nor  hair  of  him  since  I 
pitched  him  out  of  this  room  this  mornin' !" 

I  was  surprised  and  a  little  disturbed.  I  remembered 
Lute's  threat  about  "never  seein'  me  no  more." 

"You  don't  suppose  he  has  run  away,  or  anything 
like  that,  do  you?"  I  asked. 

"He  wouldn't  run  far;  runnin's  too  much  like  work. 
But  why  he  wan't  home  for  dinner  I  don't  understand. 
I  never  knew  him  to  miss  a  meal's  vittles  afore.  I  hope 
nothin'  ain't  happened  to  him,  that's  all.  Well,  we'll 
have  our  supper,  anyhow.  After  that  we'll  see." 

But  we  did  not  have  to  see.  We  were  at  the  table 
when  we  heard  the  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  on  the 
walk.  The  gate  closed  with  a  bang.  Dorinda  rose  from 
her  chair. 

"I  swan !    I  believe  that's  him  now !"  she  exclaimed. 

"If  it  is,  he  is  certainly  running  this  time,"  I  observed. 
"What " 

The  door  was  thrown  open  and  the  missing  member 
of  the  household  appeared  He  was  red-faced  and 
panting,  but  there  was  a  curious  air  of  dignified  im 
portance  in  his  bearing.  Dorinda's  lips  shut  tightly. 

"Well,  Lute,"  said  I,  "where  have  you  been?" 

Lute  struggled  for  breath. 

"Don't  ask  me  where  I've  been!"  he  gasped.  "Don't 
waste  no  time  askin'  me  questions.  Get  your  hat  on, 
Ros!  Get  your  hat  on  this  minute!  Where  did  I  put 
that?  Where  in  time  did  I  put  it?" 

402 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

He  was  fumbling  in  his  pockets.  Dorinda  and  I 
looked  at  each  other.  She  shook  her  head. 

"He's  gone  stark  foolish  at  last!"  she  said,  with  de 
cision.  "Well,  I've  been  expectin'  it!  Lute  Rogers, 
stop  pawin'  yourself  over  and  act  sensible,  if  you  can. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Matter  with  me!  Nothin's  the  matter  with  me;  but 
there's  somethin'  the  matter  with  other  folks,  I  tell  you 
that!  Doctor  Quimby's  been  there  twice  already,  and 
the  telephone's  been  goin',  and — and —  My  time!  you 
ought  to  seen  her  face!  'Twas  just  as  white  as — as — 
Where  did  I  put  that  letter?" 

His  "pawing"  became  more  frantic  than  ever.  His 
wife  stepped  forward  and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"Stop  it,  I  tell  you !"  she  commanded.  "Stop  it ! 
Who's  sick?  Whose  telephone's  ringin'?  What  letter 
are  you  talkin'  about?  Answer  me!  Stop  that  Saint 
Vitus  dancin'  and  answer  me  this  minute !" 

She  gave  him  a  shake  and  his  cap  fell  to  the  floor. 
From  it  fell  an  envelope.  Lute  pulled  himself  free  and 
pounced  upon  it. 

"There  'tis!"  he  exclaimed.  "By  time!  I  was  scart 
I'd  lost  it!  Read  it,  Ros!  read  it!" 

He  handed  me  the  envelope.  It  bore  my  name.  I 
tore  it  open — took  out  the  sheet  of  notepaper  which  it 
inclosed,  and  read  as  follows : 

"Dear  Mr.  Paine: 

"Father  is  very  ill,  and  I  am  in  great  trouble.  I  think 
you,  perhaps,  can  help  us  both.  Will  you  come  over  at 
once?  Please  do. 

"Hastily  yours, 

"MABEL  COLTON." 

"And — and — "  panted  Lute,  "she  told  me  to  tell  you 
403 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

to  please  hurry.     And  you'd  ought  to  seen  her  face! 

She " 

I  heard  no  more.  I  did  not  wait  to  get  my  hat,  as  the 
excited  bearer  of  the  note  had  urged  me  to  do.  Bare 
headed,  I  hurried  out  of  the  dining-room  and  along  the 
path  toward  the  Colton  mansion. 


404 


IT  was  early  in  the  evening,  but  the  big  house  was 
lighted  as  if  for  a  reception ;  lights  in  the  rooms 
above,  lights  in  the  library  and  hall  and  drawing- 
room.  Doctor  Quimby's  horse  and  buggy  stood  by  one 
of  the  hitching  posts  and  the  Colton  motor  car  was 
drawn  up  by  the  main  entrance.  From  the  open  win 
dows  of  the  servants'  quarters  came  the  sounds  of  ex 
cited  voices.  I  hastened  to  the  front  door.  Before  I 
could  push  the  button  of  the  electric  bell  the  door  was 
opened.  Johnson,  the  butler,  peered  out  at  me.  Most 
of  his  dignity  was  gone. 

"Is  it  you,  Mr.  Paine?"  he  asked,  anxiously.  "Come 
in,  sir,  please.  Miss  Mabel  has  been  asking  for  you  not 
a  minute  ago,  sir." 

I  entered  the  hall.  "What  is  it,  Johnson?"  I  asked, 
quickly.  "How  is  Mr.  Colton?" 

The  butler  looked  behind  him  before  replying.  He 
shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"He's  awful  ill,  sir,"  he  whispered.  "The  doctor's 
been  with  him  for  an  hour;  'e's  unconscious  and  Mrs. 
Colton  is  takin'  on  something  terrible.  It's  awful,  sir, 
ain't  it !" 

His  nervousness  was  sufficient  indication  of  the  gen 
eral  demoralization  of  the  household.  And  from  one  of 
the  rooms  above  came  the  sobs  of  a  hysterical  woman. 

"Brace  up,  man,"  I  whispered  in  reply.  "This  is  no 
time  for  you  to  go  to  pieces.  Where  is  Miss  Colton  ?" 

405 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"She's  with  her  father,  sir.  Step  into  the  library  and 
I'll  call  her." 

He  was  not  obliged  to  call  her,  for,  at  that  moment, 
I  heard  her  voice  speaking  from  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"Who  is  it,  Johnson?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

"It's  Mr.  Paine,  Miss  Mabel." 

I  heard  a  little  exclamation,  of  relief  it  seemed  to  me. 
Then  she  appeared,  descending  the  staircase.  Her  face 
was,  as  Lute  had  said,  pale,  but  her  manner  was  calm, 
much  calmer  than  the  butler's. 

She  came  to  me  and  extended  her  hand.  "Thank  you1 
for  coming,"  she  said.  "I  was  sure  you  would." 

"How  is  your  father,  Miss  Colton?"  I  asked. 

"He  is  no  worse.  Come  into  the  library,  please.  John 
son,  if  Mother  or  the  doctor  need  me,  I  shall  be  in  the 
library.  Come,  Mr.  Paine." 

We  entered  the  library  together.  The  room  in  which 
I  had  had  my  two  memorable  encounters  with  "Big 
Jim"  Colton  was  without  its  dominant  figure  now.  His 
big  armchair  was  drawn  up  beside  the  table  and  the 
papers  and  writing  materials  were  in  the  place  where  I 
had  seen  them.  A  half-burned  cigar  lay  in  the  ash  tray. 
But  the  strong  fingers  which  had  placed  it  there  were 
weak  enough  now  and  the  masterful  general  of  finance 
was  in  his  room  upstairs  fighting  the  hardest  battle  of 
his  life,  fighting  for  that  life  itself.  A  door  at  the  end 
of  the  library,  a  door  which  I  had  not  noticed  before, 
was  partially  open  and  from  within  sounded  at  intervals 
a  series  of  sharp  clicks,  the  click  of  a  telegraph  instru 
ment.  I  remembered  that  Colton  had  told  me,  in  one 
of  his  conversations,  that  he  had  both  a  private  telephone 
and  telegraph  in  his  house. 

Miss  Colton  closed  the  door  behind  us,  and  turned  to 
me. 

406 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Thank  you  for  coming,"  she  said,  again.  "I  need 
help  and  I  could  think  of  no  one  but  you.  You  have 
hurried  dreadfully,  haven't  you !" 

She  was  looking  at  my  forehead.  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  my  face  in  the  mirror  above  the  mantel  and  reached 
for  my  handkerchief. 

"I  must  have  run  every  step  of  the  way,"  I  answered. 
"I  didn't  realize  it.  But  never  mind  that.  Tell  me  about 
your  father." 

"He  was  taken  ill  soon  after  he  returned  from  your 
house.  He  was  in  the  library  here  and  I  heard  him  call. 
When  I  reached  him  he  was  lying  upon  the  couch, 
scarcely  able  to  speak.  He  lost  consciousness  before  we 
could  get  him  to  his  room.  The  doctor  says  it  is  what 
he  has  feared,  an  attack  of  acute  indigestion,  brought  on 
by  anxiety  and  lack  of  rest.  It  was  my  fault,  I  am 
afraid.  Last  night's  worry —  Poor  Father!" 

For  just  a  moment  I  feared  she  was  going  to  break 
down.  She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  But  she 
removed  it  almost  immediately. 

"The  doctor  is  confident  there  is  no  great  danger," 
she  went  on.  "Danger,  of  course,  but  not  the  greatest. 
He  is  still  unconscious  and  will  be  for  some  time,  but, 
if  he  is  kept  perfectly  quiet  and  not  permitted  to  worry 
in  the  least,  he  will  soon  be  himself  again."  . 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  I  exclaimed,  fervently.  "And 
your  mother — Mrs.  Colton — how  is  she?" 

Her  tone  changed  slightly.  I  inferred  that  Mrs.  Col- 
ton's  condition  was  more  trying  than  serious. 

"Mother  is — well,  in  her  nervous  state  any  shock  is 
disturbing.  She  is  bearing  the  anxiety  as  well  as  we 
should  expect." 

I  judged  that  not  much  was  expected. 

"\t  was  not  on  account  of  Father's  illness  that  I  sent 

407 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

for  you,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  went  on.  "If  he  had  not  been 
ill  I  should  not  have  needed  you,  of  course.  But  there 
is  something  else.  It  could  not  have  happened  at  a 
more  unfortunate  time  and  I  am  afraid  you  may  not  be 
able  to  give  me  the  help  I  need.  Oh,  I  hope  you  can! 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  know  it  must  be  dreadfully 
important.  Father  has  been  troubled  about  it  for  days. 
He  has  been  saying  that  he  must  go  to  New  York.  But 
the  doctor  had  warned  us  against  his  going  and  so  we 
persuaded  him  to  wait.  And  now  ...  Sit  down, 
please.  I  want  to  ask  your  advice." 

I  took  the  chair  she  indicated.  She  drew  another  be 
side  me  and  seated  herself. 

"Mr.  Paine  —  "  she  began.  Then,  noticing  my  expres 
sion,  she  asked,  "What  is  it?" 

"Nothing,"  I  answered,  "nothing  except  —  Isn't  that 
the  telegraph  instrument  I  hear?  Isn't  someone  calling 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  Mr.  Davis,  Father's  confidential  man, 
his  broker,  in  New  York.  He  is  trying  to  get  us,  I  am 
sure.  He  telephoned  an  hour  ago.  I  got  a  part  of  his 
message  and  then  the  connection  was  broken  off.  Cen 
tral  says  there  is  something  the  matter  with  the  wire, 
a  big  storm  in  Connecticut  somewhere.  It  may  take  a 
whole  day  to  repair  it.  And  it  is  so  important  !  It  may 
mean  —  I  don't  know  what  it  may  mean  !  Oh,  Mr.  Paine, 
do  you  know  anything  about  stocks?" 

I  looked  at  her  blankly. 

"Stocks?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  yes,"  a  trifle  impatiently.  "Stocks  —  the  stock 
market  —  railroad  shares  —  how  they  are  bought  and  sold 
—  do  you  know  anything  about  them?" 

I  was  more  puzzled  than  ever,  but  I  answered  as  best 


408 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"A  very  little,"  I  replied.  "I  used  to  know  a  good  deal 
about  them  once,  and,  of  late,  since  I  have  been  in  the 
Denboro  bank,  my  knowledge  has  been  brushed  up  a  bit. 
But  I  am  afraid  it  is  pretty  'fragmentary." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  Louisville  and  Trans 
continental  ?" 

I  started.  Louisville  and  Transcontinental  was  the 
one  stock  about  which  I  did  know  something.  Of  late 
I  had  read  everything  the  papers  printed  concerning  it. 
It  was  the  stock  in  which  George  Taylor  had  risked  so 
much  and  which  had  come  so  near  to  ruining  him.  No 
wonder  I  was  startled.  Why  did  she  mention  that  par 
ticular  stock? 

"What?"  I  stammered. 

"Louisville  and  Transcontinental,"  she  repeated, 
eagerly.  "Do  you  know  anything  about  it?  Why  do 
you  look  at  me  like  that?" 

I  must  be  careful.  It  was  not  possible  that  she  could 
have  learned  George's  secret.  No  one  knew  that  ex 
cept  George  himself,  and  his  brokers,  and  I.  Yet — yet 
why  did  she  ask  that  question  ?  I  must  be  on  my  guard. 

"I  did  not  realize  that  I  was  looking  at  you  in  any 
extraordinary  way,  Miss  Colton,"  I  answered. 

"But  you  were.  Why  ?  Do  you  know  anything  about 
it?  If  you  do — oh,  if  you  do  you  may  be  able  to  help 
me,  to  advise  me !  And,  for  Father's  sake,  I  want  advice 
so  much." 

For  her  father's  sake!  That  did  not  sound  as  if  her 
question  concerned  George  or  me.  A  trifle  reassured, 
I  tried  to  remember  something  of  what  I  had  read. 

"I  know,  of  course,"  I  answered,  slowly,  "what  every 
one  knows,  that  the  California  and  Eastern  has  been,  or 
is  reported  to  have  been,  trying  to  get  control  of  the 
L.  and  T.  Its  possession  would  give  the  California 

409 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

people  the  balance  of  power  and  mean  the  end  of  the 
present  rate  war  with  the  Consolidated  Pacific.  The 
common  stock  has  fluctuated  between  30  and  50  for 
months  and  there  have  been  all  sorts  of  rumors.  So  much 
the  newspapers  have  made  common  property.  That  is 
all  I  know." 

"You  did  not  know  then  that  Father  and  his  associates 
control  the  California  and  Eastern?" 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair. 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  did  not  know  that.  Then  your 
father " 

"Father  tells  me  a  great  deal  concerning  his  business 
affairs.  I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  this.  It 
seems  almost  like  a  great  war  and  as  if  Father  were  a 
general.  He  and  his  associates  have  gradually  bought 
up  the  C.  and  E.  until  they  practically  own  it.  And  they 
!iave  been  working  to  get  the  Louisville  road.  Last 
winter,  you  remember,  there  was  a  great  excitement  and 
the  stock  went  up  and  then  down  again.  That  was  when 
it  looked  as  if  the  other  side — the  Consolidated  Pacific — 
had  beaten  Father,  but  they  had  not.  You  remember 
that?" 

I  remembered  it.  That  is  to  say,  George  had  told  me 
of  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  stock.  It  was  then  that  he 
had  bought. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  remember  something  of  it." 

"If  Father  had  stayed  in  New  York  he  would  have 
won  before  this.  Oh,"  with  a  burst  of  pride,  "they  can 
never  beat  him  when  he  is  leading  the  fight  himself !  He 
has,  through  his  brokers,  been  selling — what  do  they 
call  it  ?  Oh,  yes,  selling  the  Louisville  stock  'short'  ever 
since.  I  am  not  sure  just  what  that  means,  but  perhaps 
you  know." 

"I  think  I  do,"  I  answered,  thoughtfully.  "He  has 

410 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

been  selling,  quietly,  so  as  to  force  the  stock  down,  pre 
paratory  to  buying  in.  I  remember  the  papers  have  said 
that  the  C.  and  E.  were  reported  as  having  lost  interest 
in  the  Louisville.  That  was  only  a  blind,  I  presume." 

"Yes.  Father  never  gives  up,  you  know  that.  But  he 
was  very  anxious  that  the  Consolidated  Pacific  people 
should  think  he  had.  And  now — now,  when  he  is  so  ill — 
comes  this!  Mr.  Davis  telephoned  that —  Yes,  what 
is  it?" 

There  had  been  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  opened  and 
the  butler  appeared. 

"A  telegram  for  Mr.  Colton,  Miss  Mabel,"  he  said. 

"Give  it  to  me.  Tell  the  man  to  wait,  Johnson.  It  is 
from  Mr.  Davis,"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  me.  "I  am 
sure  it  is.  Yes.  See!" 

She  handed  me  the  yellow  telegram.  I  read  the  fol 
lowing  aloud: 

"James  W.  Colton, 

"Denboro,  Mass. 

"Galileo  potato  soap  currency  tomato  deeds  com 
mand  army  alcohol  thief  weather  family — " 

"What  on  earth — !"  I  exclaimed. 

"That  is  in  the  code,  Father's  prhrate  code.  Don't  you 
see  ?  The  code  book  is  here  somewhere.  I  must  find  it." 

She  was  rummaging  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk.  With 
a  sigh  of  relief  she  produced  a  little  blue  leather-covered 
book. 

"Here  it  is,"  she  said.  "Now  read  me  the  telegram 
and  I  will  write  the  translation.  Hurry!" 

I  read  again: 

"  'Galileo'—" 

"That  means  'Consolidated  Pacific'.    Go  on." 
411 


THE  RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  took  us  five  minutes  to  translate  the  telegram. 
When  we  had  finished  the  result  was: 

"Consolidated  Pacific  crowd  wise  situation.  Strong 
buying  close  market  to-day.  Expect  worse  to-morrow. 
We  are  bad  shape.  Can  deliver  only  part  Sure  big 
advance  opening  and  more  follow.  What  shall  I  do? 
Why  do  not  you  answer  private  telegraph  line?  Tele 
phone  out  order.  Wire  instructions  immediately.  Bet 
ter  still  come  yourself.  Davis." 

"Is  that  all  ?"  asked  Miss  Colton.  "What  answer  shall 
we  make?" 

"Wait.  Wait,  please,  until  I  dig  some  sort  of  sense 
out  of  all  this.  'Wise  situation' " 

"Wise  to  situation,  I  presume  that  means.  The  Con 
solidated  Pacific  is  wise  to  the  situation.  'Wise'  is  slang, 
isn't  it  ?  It  used  to  be  at  college." 

"It  is  yet,  even  in  Denboro.  Humph!  let  me  think. 
"Sure  big  advance  opening.'  I  suppose  that  means  the 
market  will  open  with  Louisville  and  Transcontinental 
at  a  higher  figure  and  that  the  price  is  sure  to  advance 
during  the  day." 

"Yes.  Yes,  it  must  mean  that.  But  why  should  Mr. 
Davis  be  so  excited  about  it?  He  said  something  about 
'ruin'  over  the  'phone.  What  does  'We  are  bad  shape' 
mean  ?  And  'Can  deliver  only  part'  ?" 

"I  don't  know  .  .  .  unless  .  .  .  Humph!  If 
we  had  some  particulars.  Why  don't  you  answer  on  the 
private  telegraph,  as  he  says?" 

"Because  I  can't.  Don't  you  see?  I  can't.  There  is 
no  telegraph  operator  in  the  house.  When  we  first  came 
Father  had  a  secretary,  who  could  use  the  telegraph; 
but  he  sent  him  back  to  New  York.  Said  he  was  sick 
of  the  sight  of  him.  They  did  not  get  on  well  together." 

"But  your  father  must  have  used  the  telegraph  since." 

412 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Yes.  Father  used  it  himself.  He  was  a  telegraph 
operator  when  he  was  a  young  man.  Oh,  you  don't 
know  what  a  wonderful  man  my  father  is !  His  story 
is  like  something  in  a  book.  He —  But  never  mind 
that.  Hark!  there  is  the  instrument  going  again.  It 
must  be  dreadfully  important.  Mr.  Davis  is  so  wor 
ried." 

"He  seems  to  be,  certainly." 

"But  what  shall  we  do?" 

"I  wish  I  knew,  but  I  don't.  You  know  nothing  of 
the  particulars?" 

"No.  Nothing  more  than  I  have  told  you.  Oh,  can't 
you  help  me?  I  feel  somehow  as  if  Father  had  left  me 
in  charge  of  his  affairs  and  as  if  I  must  not  fail.  Now, 
when  he  is  helpless!  when  he  is  .  .  .  Oh,  can't  you 
do  something,  Mr.  Paine?  I  thought  you  might.  You 
are  a  banker." 

"A  poor  imitation  only,  I  am  afraid.  Let  me  think. 
Did  you  tell  this  man  Davis  of  your  father's  illness?" 

"No.  I  thought  perhaps  Father  would  not  wish  it. 
And  I  had  no  opportunity  .  .  .  Oh,  dear!  there  is 
someone  at  the  door  again!  Who  is  it?" 

Johnson's  voice  replied.  "It  is  me,  Miss  Mabel,"  he 
said.  "The  telegraph  person  says  he  can't  wait  any 
longer.  He  'asn't  'ad  his  supper.  And  there  is  a  twenty- 
five-cent  charge  for  bringing  the  message,  Miss." 

"Tell  him  he  must  wait  a  minute  longer,"  I  answered, 
for  her.  "Miss  Colton,  it  seems  to  me  that,  whether  we 
can  do  anything  or  not,  we  should  know  the  particulars. 
Tell  that  man — Phineas  Cahoon,  the  depot  master,  I  sup 
pose  it  is — that  there  is  an  answer  and  he  must  wait  for 
it.  Now  let's  consult  that  code." 

She  took  the  code  book  and  I  picked  up  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  a  pencil  from  the  table. 

413 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"We  must  ask  him  to  send  all  the  particulars,"  I  de 
clared.  "Look  up  'send'  in  the  code,  Miss  Colton." 

She  was  turning  the  pages  of  the  little  book  when  the 
butler  knocked  once  more. 

"He  says  he  can't  send  any  message  until  morning, 
Miss  Mabel.  The  telegraph  office  closes  at  eight  o'clock." 

The  code  book  fell  to  the  table.  Miss  Colton  stared 
helplessly  at  me. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  breathed. 

I  rose  to  my  feet.  "Wait,  Johnson,"  I  called.  "Make 
that  man  wait  a  moment  longer.  Miss  Colton,  I  have 
an  idea.  Would  your  father  be  willing  to — but,  that  is 
silly !  Of  course  he  would !  I'll  see  Cahoon  myself." 

I  found  Phineas,  long-legged  and  gaunt,  sitting  on  the 
front  step  of  the  colonial  portico.  He  had  been  invited 
into  the  hall,  but  had  refused  the  invitation.  "I  had  on 
my  workin'  duds,"  he  explained  later.  "A  feller  that's 
been  handlin'  freight  all  the  afternoon  ain't  fit  to  set  on 
gold-plated  furniture."  He  looked  up  in  surprise  as 
I  came  out. 

"Well,  for  thunder  sakes !"  he  exclaimed,  in  astonish 
ment.  "It's  Ros  Paine!  What  in  the  nation  are  you 
doin'  in  here,  Ros?  Ain't  married  into  the  family,  have 
ye  ?  Haw,  haw !" 

I  could  have  kicked  him  for  that  pleasantry — if  he  had 
not  been  just  then  too  important  a  personage  to  kick. 
As  it  was,  his  chance  remark  knocked  my  errand  out  of 
my  head,  momentarily. 

"How's  the  old  man,  Ros  ?"  he  whispered.  "They  tell 
me  it's  brought  on  by  high  livin',  champagne  wine  and 
such.  Is  it?" 

"Phin,"  said  I,  ignoring  the  question,  "would  you  stay 
up  all  night  for  twenty  dollars?" 

He  stared  at  me. 

414 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"What  kind  of  conundrum's  that?"  he  demanded. 
"  'Would  I  set  up  all  night  for  twenty  dollars  ?'  That 
may  be  a  joke,  but " 

"Would  you?  I  mean  it.  Mr.  Colton  is  sick  and  his 
daughter  needs  some  one  to  send  and  receive  messages 
over  their  private  telegraph  wire.  She  will  pay  you 
twenty  dollars — or  I  will,  if  she  doesn't — if  you  will  stay 
here  and  do  that  for  her.  Will  you?" 

For  a  minute  he  sat  there  staring  at  me. 

"You  mean  it,  Ros?"  he  asked,  slowly.  "You  do,  hey! 
I  thought  p'raps — but  no,  it's  long  past  April  Fool  day. 
Will  I  do  it  ?  Show  me  the  telegraph  place  quick,  afore 
I  wake  up  and  come  out  of  the  ether.  Twenty  dollars ! 
Consarn  it,  I  send  messages  all  the  week  for  twelve,  and 
hustle  freight  and  sell  tickets  into  the  bargain.  I  ain't 
had  no  supper,  but  never  mind.  Make  it  twenty-five  and 
I'll  stay  all  day  to-morrer." 

I  led  him  into  the  library  and  explained  his  presence 
to  Miss  Colton.  She  was  delighted. 

"It  is  so  good  of  you,  Mr.  Cahoon,"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  you  shan't  starve,  either.  I  will  have  some  supper 
sent  in  to  you  at  once.  You  can  eat  it  while  you  are  at 
work,  can't  you?" 

She  hurried  out  to  order  the  supper.  Phineas,  in  ac 
cordance  with  my  request,  seated  himself  in  the  little 
room  adjoining  the  library,  before  the  telegraph  instru 
ment. 

"Thunder !"  he  observed,  looking  about  him.  "I  never 
expected  to  send  messages  for  King  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory,  but  I  cal'late  I  can  stand  it  if  Sol  can.  S'pose 
there'd  be  any  objection  to  my  takin'  off  my  coat?  Come3 
more  nat'ral  to  work  in  my  shirt  sleeves." 

I  bade  him  take  it  off  and  he  did  so. 

"This  feller's  in  some  hurry,"  he  said,  nodding  toward 

415 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

the  clicking  instrument.    "Shall  I  tell  him  we're  on  deck 
and  ready  for  business?" 

"Yes,  tell  him." 

His  long  ringers  busied  themselves  with  the  sender. 
A  sharp  series  of  clicks  answered  the  call.  Phineas 
glanced  apprehensively  out  into  the  library. 

"Say,  he  ain't  no  parson,  is  he  ?"  he  chuckled.  "Wants 
to  know  what  in  hell  has  been  the  trouble  all  this  time. 
What'll  I  tell  him?" 

"Tell  him  to  send  particulars  concerning  L.  and  T.  at 
once.  All  the  particulars." 

The  message  was  sent.  The  receiver  rattled  a  hasty 
reply. 

"He  says  you  know  all  the  particulars  already.  You 
must  know  'em.  Wants  to  know  if  this  is  Mr.  Colton." 

"Tell  him  Mr.  Colton  is  here,  in  the  house.  That  will 
be  true  enough.  And  say  we  wish  all  particulars,  figures 
and  all.  We  want  to  know  just  where  we  stand." 

The  demand  for  particulars  was  forwarded.  There 
was  more  clicking. 

"Give  me  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  quick,"  urged 
Phineas.  "This  is  a  long  feller." 

While  he  was  writing  the  "long  feller,"  as  the  tele 
graph  ticked  it  off,  Miss  Colton  and  the  butler  appeared, 
the  latter  bearing  a  loaded  tray.  He  drew  a  little  table 
up  beside  the  operator  and  placed  the  tray  upon  it.  Then 
he  went  away.  The  telegraph  clicked  and  clicked  and 
Cahoon  wrote.  Miss  Colton  and  I  watched  him 
anxiously. 

"Say,"  observed  Phineas,  between  intervals  of  clicks, 
"this  feller's  in  some  loony  asylum,  ain't  he.  This  is 
pretty  nigh  as  crazy  as  that  message  I  fetched  down. 
.  .  .  Here  'tis.  Maybe  you  folks  know  what  it  means, 
J  don't.  It's  forty  fathoms  long,  ain't  it." 

416 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

It  was  long  enough,  surely.  It  was  not  all  in  the  code 
jargon — Davis  trusted  the  privacy  of  the  wire  suffi 
ciently  to  send  a  portion  of  it  in  plain  English — but  he 
did  not  trust  even  that  altogether.  Miss  Colton  and  I 
worked  it  out  as  we  had  the  first  telegram.  As  the 
translation  progressed  I  could  feel  my  hair  tingling  at 
the  roots. 

Was  it  to  help  in  such  a  complication  as  this  that  I 
had  been  summoned?  I,  of  all  people!  These  waters 
were  too  deep  for  me. 

Boiled  down,  the  "particulars"  for  which  Davis  had 
been  asked,  and  which  he  had  sent,  amounted  to  this : 
Colton,  it  seemed,  had  sold  L.  and  T.  "short"  for  a  con 
siderable  period  of  time  in  order,  as  I  had  surmised,  to 
force  down  the  price  and  buy  in  at  a  reasonable  figure. 
He  had  sold,  in  this  way,  about  three-eighths  of  the 
common  stock.  Of  this  amount  he  had  in  his  possession 
— in  his  broker's  possession,  that  is — but  two  of  the 
eighths.  The  "other  crowd" — the  Consolidated  Pacific, 
presumably — had,  as  Davis  now  discovered,  three-eighths 
actual  certificates,  in  its  pocket,  had  been  acquiring  them, 
on  the  quiet,  while  pretending  to  have  lost  interest.  The 
public,  unsuspecting  powers  in  this,  as  in  most  of  Wall 
Street  little  games,  had  still  three-eighths.  The  "other 
crowd,"  knowing  "Big  Jim's"  position,  had  but  to  force 
immediate  delivery  of  the  missing  one-eighth — the 
amount  of  Colton's  over-selling — and  he  might  be 
obliged  to  pay  Heaven  knew  what  for  the  shares.  He 
must  acquire  them;  he  must  buy  them.  And  the  price 
which  he  would  be  forced  to  pay  might  mean — perhaps 
not  bankruptcy  for  him,  the  millionaire — but  certainly 
the  loss  of  a  tremendous  sum  and  all  chance  of  acquiring 
control  of  the  road.  "This  has  been  sprung  on  us  all  at 
once,"  wired  Davis.  "They  have  got  us  cold.  What  shall 

417 


THE  RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  do?  You  must  be  here  yourself  before  the  market 
opens." 

And  the  man  who  "must  be  there  himself"  was  criti 
cally  ill  and  unconscious! 

The  long  telegram,  several  hundred  words  of  it,  was 
before  us.  I  read  it  through  again,  and  Miss  Colton  sat 
and  looked  at  me. 

"Do  you  understand  it — now?"  she  whispered,  anx 
iously. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.     ...     What  is  it,  Phin?" 

"I  was  just  wonderin',"  drawled  Cahoon's  voice  from 
the  adjoining  room,  "if  I  couldn't  eat  a  little  mite  of  this 
supper.  I've  got  to  do  it  or  have  my  nose  and  eyes  tied 
up.  Havin'  all  them  good  things  settin'  right  where  I 
can  see  and  smell  'em  is  givin'  me  the  fidgets." 

"Yes,  yes,  eat  away,"  I  said,  laughing.  And  even  Miss 
Colton  smiled.  But  my  laugh  and  her  smile  were  but 
transient. 

"Is  it —  Does  it  mean  that  things  are  very  wrong?" 
she  asked,  indicating  the  telegram. 

"They  are  very  serious ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that." 

The  instrument  clicked. 

"Say,  Ros,"  said  Phin,  his  mouth  full,  "this  feller's 
gettin'  as  fidgety  as  I  was  afore  I  got  afoul  of  this  grub. 
He  wants  to  know  what  his  instructions  are.  What'll 
he  do?" 

"What  shall  you  tell  him?"  asked  Miss  Colton. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "I  do  not  know.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  of  no  use  whatever.  This  is  no  country 
man's  job.  No  country  banker,  even  a  real  one,  should 
attempt  to  handle  this.  This  is  high  finance  with  a  ven 
geance.  I  don't  know.  I  think  he  ...  Suppose  we 
tell  him  to  consult  the  people  at  your  father's  office." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said.  "The  people 

418 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

at  the  office  know  nothing  of  it.  This  was  Father's  own 
personal  affair.  No  one  knows  of  it  but  Mr.  Davis." 

"How  about  them  instructions?"  this  from  Cahoon. 

"Tell  him — yes,  tell  him  Mr.  Colton  cannot  leave  here 
at  present  and  that  he  must  use  his  own  judgment,  go 
ahead  on  his  own  responsibility.  That  is  the  only  thing 
I  see  to  do,  Miss  Colton.  Don't  worry;  he  must  be  a 
man  of  experience  and  judgment  or  your  father  never 
would  use  him.  He  will  pull  it  through,  I  am  sure." 

I  was  by  no  means  as  confident  as  I  pretended  to  be, 
however,  and  the  next  message  from  Davis  proved  my 
forebodings  to  be  well  founded.  His  answer  was  prompt 
and  emphatic : 

Matter  too  important.  Decline  to  take  responsibil 
ity.  Must  have  definite  instructions  or  shall  not  act. 
Is  this  Mr.  Colton  himself  ? 

"He  would  not  act  without  Father's  orders  in  a  matter 
like  this.  I  was  afraid  of  it.  And  he  is  growing  sus 
picious.  Oh,  can't  you  help  me,  Mr.  Paine  ?  Can't  you  ? 
I  relied  on  you.  I  felt  sure  you  would  know  what  to  do. 
I  am — I  am  so  alone ;  and  with  Father  so  ill — I — I " 

She  turned  away  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand 
on  the  table.  I  felt  again  the  desperate  impulse  I  had 
felt  when  we  were  alone  on  board  the  launch,  the  im 
pulse  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  try  to  comfort  her, 
to  tell  her  that  I  would  do  anything — anything  for  her. 
And  yet  what  could  I  do? 

"Can't  you  help  me?"  she  pleaded.  "You  have  never 
failed  me  before." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Johnson's  voice 
called  her  name. 

"Miss  Mabel,"  he  whispered,  "Miss  Mabel,  will  you 
come,  please?  The  doctor  wants  you  right  away." 

419 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

She  rose  quickly,  drawing  her  hand  across  her  eyes  as 
she  did  so. 

"I  am  coming,  Johnson,"  she  said.  Then,  turning  to 
me,  "I  will  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can.  Do  try — try  to 
think.  You  must,  for  Father's  sake,  for  all  our  sakes." 

She  left  the  room.  I  rose  and,  with  my  hands  in  my 
pockets,  began  to  pace  the  floor.  This  was  the  tightest 
place  I  had  ever  been  in.  There  had  been  a  time,  years 
before,  when  I  prided  myself  on  my  knowledge  of  the 
stock  market  and  its  idiosyncrasies.  Then,  in  the  con 
fidence  of  youth,  I  might  have  risen  to  a  situation  like 
this,  might  have  tackled  it  and  had  the  nerve  to  pull  it 
through  or  blame  the  other  fellow  if  I  failed.  Now  I 
was  neither  youthful  nor  confident.  Whatever  I  did 
would  be,  in  all  human  probability,  the  wrong  thing, 
and  to  do  the  wrong  thing  now  meant,  perhaps,  ruin  for 
the  sick  man  upstairs.  And  she  had  trusted  me!  She 
had  sent  for  me  in  her  trouble !  I  had  "never  failed  her 
before" ! 

I  walked  the  floor,  trying  hard  to  think.  It  was  hard 
to  think  calmly,  to  be  sensible,  and  yet  I  realized  that 
common-sense  and  coolness  were  what  I  needed  now.  I 
tried  to  remember  the  outcome  of  similar  situations  in 
financial  circles,  but  that  did  not  help  me.  I  remembered 
a  play  I  had  seen,  "The  Henrietta"  was  its  name.  In 
that  play,  a  young  man  with  more  money  than  brains  had 
saved  the  day  for  his  father,  a  Wall  Street  magnate, 
by  buying  a  certain  stock  in  large  quantities  at  a  criti 
cal  time.  He  arrived  at  his  decision  to  buy,  rather  than 
sell,  by  tossing  a  coin.  The  father  had  declared  that  his 
son  had  hit  upon  the  real  secret  of  success  in  stock  spec 
ulation.  Possibly  the  old  gentleman  was  right,  but  I 
could  not  make  my  decision  in  that  way.  No,  whatever 
I  did  must  have  some  reason  to  back  it.  Was  there  no 

420 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

situation,  outside  of  Wall  Street,  which  offered  a  paral 
lel?  After  all,  what  was  the  situation?  Some  one 
wished  to  buy  a  certain  thing,  and  some  one  else  wished 
to  buy  it  also.  Neither  party  wanted  the  other  to  get 
it.  There  had  been  a  general  game  of  bluff  and  then 
.  .  .  Humph  !  Why,  in  a  way,  it  was  like  the  original 
bidding  for  the  Shore  Lane  land. 

It  was  like  it,  and  yet  it  was  not.  I  owned  the  land 
and  Colton  wanted  to  buy  it;  so  also  did  Jed  Dean. 
Each  side  had  made  bids  and  had  been  refused.  Then 
the  bidders  had,  professedly,  stood  pat,  but,  in  reality, 
they  had  not.  Jed  had  told  me,  in  his  latest  interview, 
that  he  would  have  paid  almost  anything  for  that  land, 
if  he  had  had  to.  And  Colton — Colton  had  invented  the 
Bay  Shore  Development  Company.  That  company  had 
fooled  Elnathan  Mullet  and  other  property  holders.  It 
had  fooled  Captain  Jed.  It  had  come  very  near  to  fool 
ing  me.  If  Mabel  Colton  had  not  given  me  the  hint  I 
might  have  been  tricked  into  selling.  Then  Colton 
would  have  won,  have  won  on  a  "bluff."  A  good  bluff 
did  sometimes  win.  I  wondered  .  .  . 

I  was  still  pacing  the  floor  when  Miss  Colton  returned 
to  the  library.  She  was  trying  hard  to  appear  calm,  but 
I  could  see  that  she  was  greatly  agitated. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked.     "Is  he " 

"He  is  not  as  well  just  now.  I — I  must  not  leave 
him — or  Mother.  But  I  came  back  for  a  moment,  as  I 
told  you  I  would.  Is  there  anything  new?" 

"No.  Davis  has  repeated  his  declaration  to  do  noth 
ing  without  orders  from  your  father." 

She  nodded.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  "then  it  is  over. 
We  are  beaten — Father  is  beaten  for  the  first  time.  It 
makes  little  difference,  I  suppose.  If  he — if  he  is  taken 
from  us,  nothing  else  matters.  But  I  hoped  you  .  .  . 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

never  mind.  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Paine.  You  would  have 
helped  him  if  you  could,  I  know." 

Somehow  this  surrender,  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was 
made,  stirred  me  more  than  all  else.  She  had  trusted 
me  and  I  had  failed.  I  would  not  have  it  so. 

"Miss  Colton,"  I  said,  earnestly,  "suppose — suppose  I 
should  go  ahead  and  make  this  fight,  on  my  own  hook. 
Suppose  I  should  give  Davis  the  'instructions'  he  is  beg 
ging  for.  Have  I  permission  to  do  it?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  "Of  course,"  she  said, 
simply. 

"Do  you  mean  it?  It  may  mean  complete  smash.  I 
am  no  railroad  man,  no  stock  manipulator.  I  have  an 
idea  and  if  this  trouble  were  mine  I  should  act  upon  it. 
.But  it  is  not  mine.  It  is  your  father's — and  yours.  I 
•may  be  crazy  to  risk  such  a  thing " 

She  stepped  forward.  "Do  it,"  she  commanded.  "I 
tell  you  to  do  it.  If  it  fails  I  will  take  the  responsibility." 

"That  you  shall  not  do.  But  I  will  take  the  chance. 
Phin!" 

"Yup;  here  I  be." 

"Send  this  message  at  once :  'Try  your  hardest  to  get 
hold  of  any  shares  you  can,  at  almost  any  figure  in  rea 
son,  before  the  market  opens.  When  it  opens  begin  buy 
ing  everything  offered.'  Got  that?" 

"Yup.    I've  got  it." 

"Sign  it  'Colton'  and  send  it  along.  I  am  using  your 
father's  name,"  I  added,  turning  to  her.  "It  seems  to 
me  the  only  way  to  avoid  suspicion  and  get  action.  No 
one  must  know  that  'Big  Jim'  is  critically  ill ;  you  under 
stand  that." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  But,"  hesitatingly,  "to  buy  may 
mean  paying  tremendous  prices,  may  it  not?  Can 


422 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"We  must.  Here  is  Davis's  reply  coming.  What  is 
it,  Phin?" 

Gaboon  read  off  the  message  as  the  receiver  clicked, 

"You  are  insane.  Buying  at  such  prices  will  be  sui 
cide." 

'Tell  him  no.  Tell  him  to  let  it  leak  out  that  Colton 
is  seizing  the  opportunity  to  clinch  his  control  of  the 
road.  The  other  crowd  will  think,  if  he  is  willing  to  buy 
at  any  price,  that  he  cannot  be  so  short  as  they  sup 
posed.  Send  all  that,  Phin.  It  is  a  bluff,  Miss  Colton, 
nothing  but  a  bluff,  but  it  may  win.  God  knows  I  hope 
it  will." 

She  did  not  answer.  Together  we  waited  for  the 
reply.  It  came  as  follows: 

All  right  if  you  say  so,  of  course,  but  still  think  it 
suicide.  I  am  off  on  the  still  hunt  for  those  shares  but 
don't  believe  one  to  be  had,  Consolidated  bunch  too 
sharp  for  that.  Stay  by  the  wire.  Will  report  when 
I  can.  Good  luck  and  good-by. 

"He's  gone,  I  cal'late,"  observed  Phineas.  "Need  me 
any  more,  do  you  think?" 

"Yes.  You  must  stay  here  all  night,  just  as  I  told 
you." 

"Right  you  be.  Send  word  to  the  old  woman,  that's 
all,  if  you  can.  Cal'late  she's  waitin'  at  the  kitchen  door 
with  a  rollin'  pin,  by  this  time." 

"I  will  send  the  word,  Mr.  Cahoon,"  replied  Miss 
Colton.  "And — don't  you  think  you  could  go  home  now, 
Mr.  Paine?  I  know  how  exhausted  you  must  be,  after 
last  night." 

"No  home  for  me,"  I  answered,  with  assumed  cheer- 

423 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

fulness.  "Admirals  of  Finance  are  expected  to  stick  by 
the  ship.  I  will  lie  down  here  on  the  couch  and  Phineas 
can  call  me  if  I  am  needed.  Don't  worry,  Miss  Colton. 
Go  to  your  father  and  forget  us  altogether,  if  you  can. 
If — if  I  should  be  needed  for — for  any  other  cause, 
please  speak." 

She  looked  at  me  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
came  toward  me  and  held  out  her  hand.  "I  shall  not 
forget,  whatever  else  I  may  do,"  she  said,  brokenly. 
"And  I  will  speak  if  I  need  you,  my  friend." 

She  turned  hastily  and  went  to  the  door. 

"I  will  send  word  to  your  people  as  well  as  Mr.  Ga 
boon's,"  she  added.  "Try  and  sleep,  if  you  can.  Good 
night." 

The  door  closed  behind  her.  Sleep!  I  was  not  likely 
to  sleep.  A  man  who  has  lighted  the  fuse  of  the  powder 
magazine  beneath  him  does  not  sleep  much. 


424 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AND  yet  sleep  I  did,  for  a  little  while,  just  before 
morning  broke.  I  had  spent  the  night  pacing 
the  floor  and  talking  to  Phineas,  who  was  wide 
awake  and  full  of  stories  and  jokes,  to  which  I  paid 
little  attention.  Miss  Colton  did  not  come  to  the  library 
again.  From  the  rooms  above  I  heard  occasional  sobs 
and  exclamations  in  Mrs.  Colton's  voice.  Once  Doctor 
Quimby  peeped  in.  He  looked  anxious  and  weary. 

"Hello,  Ros !"  he  hailed,  "I  heard  you  were  here.  This 
is  a  high  old  night,  isn't  it!" 

"How  is  he?"  I  asked. 

"About  the  same.  No  worse;  in  fact,  he's  better 
than  he  was  a  while  ago.  But  he's  not  out  of  the  woods 
yet,  though  I'm  pretty  hopeful,  for  the  old  boy  has  a 
husky  constitution — considering  the  chances  he's  taken 
with  it  all  his  life.  It's  his  wife  that  bothers  me.  She's 
worse  than  one  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt.  I've  given  her 
some  sleeping  powders  now;  they'll  keep  her  quiet  for 
a  spell,  I  hope." 

"And  Miss  Colton — how  is  she?" 

"She!  She's  as  calm  and  sensible  and  helpful  as  a 
trained  nurse.  By  the  Almighty,  she  is  a  wonder,  that 
girl !  Well,  I  must  get  back  on  my  job.  Don't  have  a 
millionaire  patient  every  day  in  the  week." 

At  three  o'clock  came  a  message  from  Davis.  He  had 
not  been  able  to  secure  a  single  share.  Did  his  instruc 
tions  to  buy  still  hold?  I  answered  that  they  did  and 

425 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

he  replied  that  he  was  going  to  get  a  nap  for  an  hour 
or  so.  "I  shall  need  the  rest,  if  I  am  any  prophet,"  he 
concluded. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  I  lay  down  on  the  couch. 
I  had  determined  not  to  close  my  eyes,  but  I  was  utterly 
worn  out,  I  suppose,  and  exhaustion  got  the  better  of 
me.  The  next  thing  I  knew  the  gray  light  of  dawn  was 
streaming  in  at  the  library  windows  and  Johnson  was 
spreading  a  tempting-looking  breakfast  on  the  table. 

I  sprang  up. 

"What  time  is  it?"  I  demanded. 

"About  half-past  five,  sir,  or  thereabouts,"  was  the 
answer,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  weariness  and  resentment. 
Plainly  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  up  all  night  and  consid 
ered  himself  imposed  upon. 

I  was  thankful  that  my  lapse  from  duty  had  been  of 
no  longer  duration.  It  had  been  much  too  long  as  it 
was. 

"How  is  Mr.  Colton?"  I  asked. 

"Better,  sir,  I  believe.  He  is  resting  more  quiet  at 
present." 

"Where  is  Cahoon?" 

"Here  I  be,"  this  from  Phineas  in  the  next  room. 
"Have  a  good  snooze,  did  you,  Ros  ?" 

"Too  good."  I  walked  in  and  found  him  still  sitting 
by  the  telegraph  instrument.  "Has  anything  happened  ?" 
I  asked. 

"Nary  thing.  All  quiet  as  the  tomb  since  that  last 
message,  the  one  you  heard.  Pretty  nigh  fell  asleep  my 
self,  I  did.  Guess  I  should  have,  only  Miss  Colton  she 
came  in  and  kept  me  comp'ny  for  a  spell." 

"Miss  Colton — has  she  been  here?  Why  didn't  you 
call  me,  Ros?" 

"I  was  goin'  to,  but  she  wouldn't  let  me.  Said  you  was 

426 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

all  wore  out,  poor  feller,  and  that  you  wan't  to  be  dis 
turbed  unless  'twas  necessary.  She's  an  awful  nice 
young  woman,  ain't  she.  Nothin'  stuck  up  about  her, 
at  all.  Set  here  and  talked  with  me  just  as  sociable  and 
folksy  as  if  she  wan't  wuth  a  cent.  Asked  more  ques 
tions  than  a  few,  she  did." 

"Did  she?"  I  was  not  paying  much  attention  to  his 
remarks.  My  mind  was  busy  with  more  important 
things.  I  was  wondering  what  Davis  was  doing  just 
then.  Phin  went  on. 

"Yup.  I  happened  to  remember  that  you  wan't  at  the 
bank  to-day  and  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  the  reason  why. 
'How  did  you  know  he  wasn't  there?'  says  she.  'Alvin 
Baker  told  me  fust,'  I  says,  'and  Sam  Wheeler  told  him. 
Everybody  knew  it  and  was  wonderin'  about  it.  They 
cal'lated  Ros  was  sick,'  I  told  her,  'but  that  couldn't  be 
or  he  wouldn't  be  round  here  settin'  up  all  night.'  What 
was  the  reason  you  wan't  there,  Ros?" 

I  thought  it  strange  that  he,  and  everyone  else  in 
town,  did  not  know  the  reason  before  this.  WTas  it  pos 
sible  that  Captain  Dean  alone  knew  of  my  "treason"  to 
Denboro,  and  that  he  was  keeping  the  discovery  to  him 
self?  Why  should  he  keep  it  to  himself?  He  had 
threatened  to  drive  me  out  of  town. 

"I  had  other  business  to-day,  Phin,"  I  answered, 
shortly. 

"Yup.  So  I  gathered  from  what  Cap'n  Jed  said.  He 
was  in  the  depot  this  noon  sendin'  a  telegram  and  I 
asked  him  about  you.  'Is  Ros  sick  ?'  I  says.  'Huh !'  says 
he — you  know  how  he  grunts,  Ros ;  for  all  the  world  like 
a  hog — 'Huh !'  says  he,  'sick  !  No,  but  I  cal'late  he'll  be 
pretty  sick  afore  long.'  What  did  he  mean  by  that,  do 
you  s'pose?" 

I  knew,  but  I  did  not  explain.    I  made  no  reply. 

427 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"'Twas  a  queer  sort  of  talk,  seemed  to  me,"  continued 
Phin.  "I  asked  him  again  why  you  wan't  at  the  bank, 
and  he  said  you  had  other  business,  just  same  as  you  said 
now.  He  was  ugly  as  a  cow  with  a  sore  horn  over 
somethin'  and  I  judged  'twas  best  to  keep  still.  That 
telegram  he  sent  was  a  surprisin'  thing,  too.  'Twas  to — 
but  there!  he  made  me  promise  I  wouldn't  tell  and  so  I 
mustn't.  I  ain't  told  a  soul — except  one — and  then  it 
slipped  out  afore  I  thought.  However,  that  one  won't 
make  no  difference.  She  ain't  interested  in — in  the  one 
the  telegram  was  sent  to,  'tain't  likely." 

"Where  is  Miss  Colton  now  ?"  I  asked. 

"With  her  ma  and  pa,  I  presume  likely.  Her  and  me 
set  and  whispered  together  for  a  long  spell.  Land  sakes ! 
she  wouldn't  let  me  speak  louder'n  a  whisper  for  fear 
of  wakin'  you  up.  A  body'd  think  you  was  a  young-one 
in  arms,  the  care  she  took  of  you." 

Again  I  did  not  answer,  and  again  the  garrulous  sta 
tion  master  continued  without  waiting  for  a  reply. 

"I  says  to  her,  says  I,  'It's  a  pity  George  Taylor  ain't 
to  home/  I  says.  'I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  could  help 
you  with  this  Louisville  stock  you're  so  worried  about. 
George  was  consider'ble  interested  in  that  stock  himself 
a  spell  ago.  I  sent  much  as  a  dozen  telegrams  from  him 
about  that  very  stock  to  some  broker  folks  up  to  Boston, 
and  they  was  mighty  anxious  telegrams,  too.  I  tell  you !' 
I  says." 

He  had  caught  my  attention  at  last. 

"Did  you  tell  her  that  ?"  I  demanded. 

"Sure  I  did !  I  never  meant  to,  nuther.  Ain't  told  an 
other  soul.  You  see,  George,  he  asked  me  not  to.  But 
she's  got  a  way  with  her  that  would  make  Old  Nick 
confess  his  sins,  if  she  set  out  to  larn  'em.  I  was  sort 
of  ashamed  after  I  told  her  and  I  explained  to  her  that 

428 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  hadn't  ought  to  done  it.  'But  I  guess  it's  all  right 
now,  anyway,'  I  says.  'If  there  was  any  trouble  along 
of  George  and  that  stock  I  cal'late  it's  all  over.  He 
acted  dreadful  worried  for  a  spell,  but  for  the  week  afore 
he  was  married  he  seemed  chipper  as  ever.  Biggest 
change  in  him  you  ever  see/  says  I.  'So  my  tellin'  you 
is  all  right,  I  guess,'  I  says.  Tm  sure  it's  all  right,'  says 
she,  and  her  face  kind  of  lighted  up,  as  you  might  say. 
When  she  looked  at  me  that  way  I'd  have  given  her 
my  house  and  lot,  if  she'd  wanted  'em,  though  you 
needn't  tell  my  old  woman  that  I  said  so.  He !  he !  'Of 
course  it's  all  right/  she  says.  'But  you  had  better  not 
tell  anyone  else.  We'll  have  it  for  our  secret,  won't  we, 
Mr.  Cahoon?'  she  says,  smilin'.  'Sartin  we  will/  says  I. 
And — well,  by  thunder!"  as  if  the  thought  occurred  to 
him  for  the  first  time.  "I  said  that,  and  now  I've  been 
and  blatted  out  the  whole  business  to  you!  I  am  the 
darndest  fool!" 

I  did  not  contradict  him.  I  was  too  angry  and  dis 
turbed  even  to  speak  to  him  for  the  moment.  And,  be 
fore  I  could  speak,  we  were  interrupted.  The  young 
lady  herself  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She  had  not  slept, 
that  was  plain.  Her  face  was  pale  and  there  were  dark 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes.  As  I  looked  at  her  I  was 
more  ashamed  of  my  own  unpremeditated  nap  than  ever. 
Yet  she  was,  as  the  doctor  had  said,  calm  and  uncom 
plaining.  She  even  smiled  as  she  greeted  us. 

"Good  morning/'  she  said.  "Your  breakfast  is  ready, 
Mr.  Cahoon.  I  know  you  feel  that  you  must  be  getting 
back  to  your  work  at  the  station." 

Phineas  pulled  out  an  enormous  nickel  watch  and 
glanced  at  it. 

"Land  sakes!  most  six,  ain't  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
guess  you're  right.  I'll  have  to  be  trottin'  along.  But 

429 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

you  needn't  fuss  for  no  breakfast  for  me.  I'm  used  to 
missin'  a  meal's  vittles  now  and  again  and  I  et  enough 
last  night  to  last  me  one  spell." 

He  was  hurrying  from  the  room,  but  she  would  not 
let  him  go. 

"There  has  been  no  'fuss'  whatever,  Mr.  Cahoon,"  she 
said.  "Breakfast  is  ready,  here  in  the  library.  And 
yours  is  ready,  too,  Mr.  Paine.  I  hope  your  few  min 
utes'  sleep  has  rested  you.  I  am  sorry  you  woke  so  soon. 
I  told  Johnson  to  be  careful  and  not  disturb  you." 

"I  deserve  to  be  shot  for  sleeping  at  all,"  I  declared, 
in  self  reproach.  "I  did  not  mean  to.  I  lay  down  for 
a  moment  and — well,  I  suppose  I  was  rather  tired." 

"I  know.  Last  night's  experience  was  enough  to 
tire  anyone." 

"Nonsense !  It  was  no  worse  for  me  than  for  you," 
I  said. 

"Yes,  it  was.  You  had  the  care  and  the  responsibility. 
I,  you  see,  knew  that  I  was  well  guarded.  Besides,  I 
slept  for  hours  this  morning.  Come,  both  of  you. 
Breakfast  is  ready." 

Phineas  was  already  seated  at  the  table,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  butler,  whose  look  of  dignified  dis 
gust  at  being  obliged  to  wait  upon  a  countryman  in  his 
shirt  sleeves  would  have  been  funny,  if  I  had  been  in  a 
mood  for  fun.  I  don't  know  which  was  the  more  uncom 
fortable,  Cahoon  or  the  butler. 

"Won't  you  join  us,  Miss  Colton?"  I  asked. 

"Why — why,  yes,  perhaps  I  will,  if  you  don't  mind. 
I  am  not  hungry  but  I  will  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  John 
son." 

Phineas  did  almost  all  the  talking  while  he  remained 
with  us,  which  was  not  long.  He  swallowed  his  break 
fast  in  a  tremendous  hurry,  a  proceeding  which  still 

430 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

further  discomposed  the  stately  Johnson,  and  then  rose 
and  put  on  his  coat. 

"I  hate  to  leave  you  short  handed  and  on  a  lee  shore, 
Miss,"  he  explained,  apologetically ;  "but  I  know  you  un 
derstand  how  'tis  with  me.  My  job's  all  I've  got  and 
I'll  have  to  hang  onto  it.  The  up  train's  due  in  forty 
minutes  and  I've  got  to  be  on  hand  at  the  deepo.  How 
ever,  I've  got  that  Davis  feller's  address  and  I'll  raise 
him  the  first  thing  to  send  his  messages  to  me  and  I'll 
get  'em  right  down  here  by  the  reg'lar  telephone.  He 
can  use  that — what-do-you-call-it  ? — that  code  thing,  if 
he's  scart  of  anybody's  findin'  out  what  he  says.  The 
boss  school-marm  of  all  creation  couldn't  read  that  gib 
berish  without  the  book." 

I  hated  to  have  him  go,  but  there  was  no  alternative. 
After  he  had  gone  and  she  and  I  were  left  together  at 
the  table  a  sense  of  restraint  seemed  to  fall  upon  us 
both.  To  see  her  sitting  opposite  me  at  the  table,  pour 
ing  my  coffee  and  breakfasting  with  me  in  this  intimate, 
family  fashion,  was  so  wonderful  and  strange  that  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else.  It  reminded  me,  in  a  way, 
of  our  luncheon  at  Seabury's  Pond,  but  that  had  been 
out  of  doors,  an  impromptu  picnic,  with  all  a  picnic's 
surroundings.  This  was  different,  quite  different.  It 
was  so  familiar,  so  homelike,  so  conventional,  and  yet, 
for  her  and  me,  so  impossible.  I  looked  at  her  and  she, 
looking  up  at  the  moment,  caught  my  eyes.  The  color 
mounted  to  her  cheeks.  I  felt  my  own  face  flushing.  Do- 
rinda — practical,  unromantic  Dorinda — had  guessed  my 
feeling  for  this  girl ;  Mother  had  divined  it.  It  was  plain 
enough  for  anyone  to  read.  I  glanced  apprehensively 
at  the  butler,  half  expecting  to  see  upon  his  clerical  coun 
tenance  the  look  of  scornful  contempt  which  would  prove 
that  he,  too,  was  possessed  of  the  knowledge.  But  he 

431 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

merely  bent  forward  with  a  deferential,  "Yes,  sir.  What 
is  it?"  and  I  meekly  requested  another  roll.  Then  I  be 
gan,  desperately,  to  talk. 

I  inquired  about  Mr.  Colton's  condition  and  was  told 
that  he  was,  or  appeared  to  be,  a  trifle  better.  Mrs. 
Colton  was,  at  last,  thanks  to  the  doctor's  powders, 
asleep.  Johnson  left  the  room  for  the  moment  and  I 
switched  to  the  subject  which  neither  of  us  had  men 
tioned  since  the  night  before,  the  Louisville  and  Trans 
continental  muddle.  I  explained  what  had  been  done 
and  pretended  a  confidence  which  I  did  not  feel  that 
everything  would  end  well.  She  listened,  but,  it  seemed 
to  me,  she  was  not  as  interested  as  I  expected.  At  length 
she  interrupted  me. 

"Suppose  we  do  not  talk  about  it  now,"  she  said.  "As 
I  understand  it,  you — we,  that  is — have  made  up  our 
minds.  We  have  decided  to  do  certain  things  which 
seem  to  us  right.  Right  or  wrong,  they  must  be  done 
now.  I  am  trying  very  hard  to  believe  them  right  and 
not  to  worry  any  more  about  them.  Oh,  I  can't  worry ! 
I  can't !  With  all  the  rest,  I — I —  Please  let  us  change 
the  subject.  Mr.  Paine,  I  am  afraid  you  must  think  me 
selfish.  I  have  said  nothing  about  your  own  trouble. 
Father — "  she  choked  on  the  name,  but  recovered  her 
composure  almost  immediately — "Father  told  me,  after 
his  return  from  your  house  this  morning,  that  his  pur 
chase  of  the  land  had  become  public  and  that  you  were 
in  danger  of  losing  your  position  at  the  bank." 

I  smiled.  "That  danger  is  past,"  I  answered.  "I  have 
lost  it.  Captain  Dean  gave  me  my  walking  papers  this 
morning." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !" 

"I  am  not.  I  expected  it.  The  wonder  is  only  that  it 
has  not  happened  before.  I  realized  that  it  was  inevi- 

432 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

table  when  I  made  up  my  mind  to  sell.  It  is  of  no  con 
sequence,  Miss  Colton." 

''Yes,  it  is.  But  Father  offered  you  the  position  in  his 
employ.  He  said  you  refused,  but  he  believed  your  re 
fusal  was  not  final." 

"He  was  wrong.    It  is  final." 

"But " 

"I  had  rather  not  discuss  that,  Miss  Colton." 

She  looked  at  me  oddly,  and  with  a  faint  smile.  "Very 
well,"  she  said,  after  a  moment,  "we  will  not  discuss  it 
now.  But  you  cannot  suppose  that  either  Father  or  I 
will  permit  you  to  suffer  on  our  account." 

"There  is  no  suffering.  I  sold  the  land  to  your  father 
deliberately  and  with  complete  knowledge  of  the  conse 
quences.  As  to  the  bank — well,  I  am  no  worse  off  than 
I  was  before  I  entered  its  employ.  I  am  satisfied." 

She  toyed  with  her  coffee  spoon. 

"Captain  Dean  seems  to  be  the  only  person  in  Den- 
boro  who  knows  of  the  sale,"  she  said.  "Why  has  he 
kept  it  a  secret?" 

"I  don't  know.     Has  he?" 

"You  know  he  has,  Mr.  Paine.  Mr.  Cahoon  did  not 
know  of  it,  and  he  would  be  one  of  the  first  to  hear. 
It  seems  odd  that  the  captain  should  tell  no  one." 

"Probably  he  is  waiting  for  the  full  particulars.  He 
will  tell,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  His  last  remark  to 
me  was  that  he  should  drive  me  out  of  Denboro." 

I  rather  expected  a  burst  of  indignation.  In  fact  I 
was  somewhat  hurt  and  disappointed  that  it  did  not 
come.  She  merely  smiled  once  more. 

"He  has  not  done  it  yet,"  she  said.  "If  he  knew  why 
you  sold  that  land — your  real  reason  for  selling  it — he 
would  not  drive  you  away,  or  try  to." 

I  was  startled  and  alarmed. 

433 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked  quickly. 

"If  he  knew  he  would  not  drive  you  away,  would 
he?" 

"He  will  never  know." 

"Perhaps  he  may.  Perhaps  the  person  for  whose  sake 
you  sold  it  may  tell  him." 

"Indeed  he  will  not!     I  shall  see  to  that." 

"Oh,  then  there  is  such  a  person!  I  was  sure  of  it 
before.  Now  you  have  told  me." 

Before  I  could  recover  from  the  mental  disturbance 
and  chagrin  which  my  slip  and  her  quick  seizure  of  it 
caused  me,  the  butler  reentered  the  room. 

"Mrs.  Colton  is  awake  and  asking  for  you,  Miss 
Mabel,"  he  said,  "The  doctor  thinks  you  had  better  go 
to  her  at  once,  if  you  please." 

With  a  word  of  apology  to  me,  she  hurried  away.  I 
rose  from  the  table.  I  had  had  breakfast  enough.  The 
interruption  had  come  at  a  fortunate  time  for  me.  Her 
next  question  might  have  forced  me  to  decline  to  an 
swer — which  would  have  been  equivalent  to  admitting 
the  truth — or  to  lie.  One  thing  I  determined  to  do 
without  delay.  I  would  write  Taylor  at  once  warning 
him  to  be  more  close-mouthed  than  ever.  Under  no 
conditions  would  I  permit  him  to  speak.  If  it  were 
necessary  I  would  go  to  Washington,  where  he  and  Nel 
lie  were  spending  their  honeymoon,  and  make  him  prom 
ise  to  keep  silence.  His  telling  the  truth  might  ruin 
him,  and  it  certainly  would  not  help  me.  In  the  one 
essential  thing — the  one  which  was  clenching  my  deter 
mination  to  leave  Denboro  as  soon  as  I  could  and  seek 
forgetfulness  and  occupation  elsewhere — no  one  could 
help  me.  I  must  help  myself,  or  be  miserable  always. 
Just  now  the  eternal  misery  seemed  inevitable,  no  mat 
ter  what  I  did. 

434 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

Johnson  cleared  the  table  and  left  me  alone  hi  the 
library.  The  hours  passed.  Nine  o'clock  came,  then 
nine-thirty.  It  was  almost  time  for  the  stock  market  to 
open.  My  thoughts,  which  had  been  diverted  from  my 
rash  plunge  into  the  intricacies  of  high  finance,  began 
to  return  to  it.  As  ten  o'clock  drew  near,  I  began  to 
realize  what  I  had  bade  Davis  do,  and  to  think  what 
might  happen  because  of  it.  I,  Roscoe  P'aine,  too 
longer  even  a  country  banker,  was  at  the  helm  of  "Big 
Jim"  Colton's  bark  in  the  maelstrom  of  the  stock  mar 
ket.  It  would  have  been  funny  if  it  had  not  been  so 
desperate.  And  desperate  it  was,  sheer  reckless  des 
peration  and  nothing  else.  I  must  have  been  crazier  than 
ever,  more  wildly  insane  than  I  had  been  for  the  past 
month,  to  even  think  of  such  a  thing.  It  was  not  too 
late  yet,  I  could  telegraph  Davis 

The  telephone  on  the  desk — not  the  public,  the  local, 
'phone,  but  the  other,  Colton's  private  wire  to  New  York 
— rang.  I  picked  up  the  receiver. 

"Hello-o!  Hello-o!"  a  faint  voice  was  calling.  "Is 
this  Colton's  house  at  Denboro?  .  .  .  Yes,  this  is  Davis 
.  .  .  The  wire  is  all  right  now.  ...  Is  this  Mr.  Colton 
speaking  ?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  "Mr.  Colton  is  here  in  the  house. 
You  may  give  the  message  to  me." 

"I  want  to  know  if  his  orders  hold.  Am  I  to  buy? 
Ask  him.  I  will  wait.  Hurry!  The  market  opens  in 
five  minutes." 

I  put  down  the  receiver.  Now  was  my  opportunity. 
I  could  back  out  now.  Five  minutes  more  and  it  would 
be  too  late.  But  if  I  did  back  out — what? 

One  of  the  minutes  passed.  Then  another.  I  seized 
the  telephone. 

"Go  ahead !"  I  shouted.    "Carry  out  your  orders." 

435 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

A  faint  "All  right"  answered  me. 

The  die  was  cast.  I  was  in  for  it.  There  was  noth 
ing  to  do  but  wait. 

And  I  waited  alone.  I  walked  up  and  down  the  floor 
of  the  little  room,  looking  at  the  clock  and  wondering 
what  was  happening  on  that  crowded  floor  of  the  big 
Broad  Street  building.  The  market  was  open.  Davis 
was  buying  as  I  had  directed.  But  at  what  figure  was 
he  buying? 

No  one  came  near  me,  not  even  the  butler.  It  was  ten- 
twenty  before  the  bell  rang  again. 

"Hello !  This  is  Mr.  Davis's  office.  Is  this  Mr.  Col- 
ton  ?  Tell  him  Mr.  Davis  says  L.  and  T.  is  one  hundred 
and  fifty  now  and  jumping  twenty  points  at  a  lick.  There 
is  the  devil  to  pay.  Scarcely  any  stock  in  sight  and 
next  door  to  a  panic.  Shall  we  go  on  buying?" 

I  was  trying  to  decide  upon  an  answer  when  some 
one  touched  my  elbow.  Miss  Colton  was  standing  beside 
me.  She  did  not  speak,  but  she  looked  the  question. 

I  told  her  what  I  had  just  heard. 

"One  hundred  and  fifty !"  she  exclaimed.  "That  is 

Why,  that  is  dreadful!  What  will  you  do?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "That  is  for  you  to  say,"  I  an 
swered. 

"No,  it  is  for  you.  You  are  doing  this.  I  trust  you. 
Do  what  you  think  is  right — you  and  Mr.  Davis.  That 
is  what  Father  would  wish  if  he  knew." 

"Davis  will  do  nothing  on  his  own  responsibility." 

"Then  you  must  do  it  alone.     Do  it!  do  it!" 

I  turned  to  the  'phone  once  more.  "Buy  all  you  can 
get,"  I  ordered.  "Keep  on  bidding.  But  be  sure  and 
spread  the  news  that  it  is  Colton  buying  to  secure  con 
trol  of  the  road,  not  to  cover  his  shorts.  Be  sure  that 
leaks  out.  Everything  depends  on  that." 

436 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  hung  up  the  receiver.  She  and  I  looked  at  each 
other. 

"What  will  happen,  do  you  think  ?"  she  asked. 

"God  knows!     .     .     .     Are  you  going?    Don't  go!" 

"I  must,"  gently.  "Father  is  worse,  I  fear,  and  I 
must  not  leave  him.  Doctor  Quimby  says  the  next  few 
hours  may  tell  us  whether  he  is — is — whether  he  is  to  be 
with  us  or  not.  I  must  go.  Be  brave.  I  trust  you.  Be 
brave,  for — for  I  am  trying  so  hard  to  be." 

I  seized  her  hand.  She  drew  it  from  my  grasp  and 
hastened  away.  Brave!  Well,  for  her  sake,  I  must  be. 
Yet  it  was  because  of  her  that  I  was  such  a  coward. 

As  I  recall  all  this  now  I  wonder  at  myself.  The 
whole  thing  seems  too  improbable  to  be  true,  yet  true 
it  was.  I  lost  my  identity  that  day,  I  think,  and,  as  the 
telephone  messages  kept  coming,  and  the  situation  be 
came  more  and  more  desperate,  became  some  one  else, 
some  one  a  great  deal  braver  and  cooler  and  more  clear 
sighted  than  ever  I  had  been  or  shall  be  again.  I 
seemed  to  see  my  course  plainer  every  moment  and  to 
feel  surer  of  myself  and  that  my  method — my  bluff,  if 
you  like — was  the  only  salvation. 

At  eleven  Louisville  and  Transcontinental  was  selling 
— the  little  that  was  sold — at  four  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars  a  share,  on  a  par  value  of  fifty.  At  eleven-thirty  it 
had  climbed  another  hundred.  The  whole  Street  was 
a  Bedlam,  so  they  'phoned  me,  and  the  nev/spapers  were 
issuing  "panic"  extras. 

"Tell  Davis  to  stop  buying  now,"  I  ordered.  "Let  it 
be  known  that  Colton  has  secured  control  and  is  satis 
fied." 

At  noon  the  figure  was  700  bid  and  800  asked.  There 
was  no  trading  at  all,  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  no 
shares  were  to  be  had.  Johnson  came  in  to  ask  if  he 

437 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

should  bring  my  luncheon.  I  bade  him  clear  out  and 
let  me  alone.  As  he  was  tip-toeing  away  I  called  after 
him. 

"How  is  Mr.  Colton?"  I  asked. 

"Very  bad  indeed,  sir.  Miss  Mabel  wished  me  to  say 
that  she  could  not  leave  him  an  instant.  It  is  the  crisis, 
the  doctor  thinks." 

There  were  two  crises  then,  one  on  each  floor  of  the 
big  house.  At  one  Davis  himself  'phoned. 

"Still  hanging  around  700,"  he  announced.  "Begins 
to  look  as  if  the  top  had  been  reached.  What  shall  I  do 
now?" 

My  plan  was  ready  and  I  gave  my  orders  as  if  I  had 
been  doing  such  things  for  years. 

"Sell,  in  small  lots,  at  intervals,"  I  told  him.  "Then, 
if  the  price  breaks,  begin  buying  through  another  broker 
as  cautiously  as  you  can." 

The  answer  was  in  a  different  tone;  there  was  a  new 
note,  almost  of  hope,  in  it. 

"By  the  Lord,  I  believe  you  have  got  it !"  he  cried. 
"It  may  work.  I'll  report  to  you,  Mr.  Colton,  right 
away." 

Plainly  he  had  no  doubt  that  "Big  Jim"  was  directing 
the  fight  in  person.  Far  was  it  from  me  to  undeceive 
him! 

Another  interval.  Then  he  reported  a  drop  of  a  hun 
dred  points. 

"The  bottom  is  beginning  to  fall  out,  I  honestly  be 
lieve.  They  think  you've  done  'em  again.  I  am  spread 
ing  the  report  that  you  have  the  control  cinched.  As 
soon  as  the  scramble  is  really  on  I'll  have  a  half  dozen 
brokers  buying  for  us." 

It  was  half-past  two  when  the  next  message  came.  It 
was  exultant,  triumphant. 

438 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Down  like  an  avalanche.  Am  grabbing  every  share 
offered.  We've  got  'em,  sure !" 

And,  as  three  o'clock  struck,  came  the  final  crow. 

"Hooray  for  our  side !  They're  dead  and  buried !  You 
have  two  hundred  shares  more  than  fifty  per  cent,  of  the 
common  stock.  The  Louisville  road  is  in  your  pocket, 
Mr.  Colton.  I  congratulate  you.  Might  have  known 
they  couldn't  lick  the  old  man.  You  are  a  wonder.  I'll 
write  full  particulars  and  then  I  am  going  home  and  to 
bed.  I'm  dead.  I  didn't  believe  you  could  do  it !  How 
did  you?" 

I  sat  there,  staring  at  the  'phone.  Then,  all  at  once, 
I  began  to  laugh,  weakly  and  hysterically,  but  to  laugh, 
nevertheless. 

"I — I  organized  a  Development  Company,"  I  gasped. 
"Good  night." 

I  rose  from  the  chair  and  walked  out  into  the  library. 
I  was  so  completely  fagged  out  by  the  strain  I  had  been 
under  that  I  staggered  as  I  walked.  The  library  door 
opened  and  Johnson  came  in.  He  was  beaming,  actu 
ally  beaming  with  joy. 

"He's  very  much  better,  sir,"  he  cried.  "He's  con 
scious  and  the  doctor  says  he  considers  'im  out  of  dan 
ger  now.  Miss  Mabel  sent  word  she  would  be  down  in 
a  short  while.  She  can't  leave  the  mistress  immediate, 
but  she'll  be  down  soon,  sir." 

I  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  way.  "Tell  Miss  Col- 
ton  that  I  am  very  glad,  Johnson,"  I  said.  "And 
tell  her,  too,  that  everything  here  is  satisfactory  also. 
Tell  her  that  Mr.  Paine  says  her  father  has  his  con 
trol." 

"  'His  control !'  And  what  may  that  be,  if  you  please, 
sir?" 

"She  will  understand.    Say  that  everything  is  all  right, 

439 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

we  have  won  and  that  Mr.  Colton  has  his  control.  Don't 
forget." 

"And — and  where  will  you  be,  sir  ?" 

"I  am  going  home,  I  think.  I  am  going  home  and — to 
bed." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  next  thing  I  remember  with  any  distinctness 
is  Dorinda's  knocking  at  my  bedroom  door. 
I  remember  reaching  that  bedroom,  of  course, 
and  of  meeting  Lute  in  the  kitchen  and  telling  him  that 
I  was  not  to  be  disturbed,  that  I  should  not  come  down 
to  supper  and  that  I  wanted  to  be  let  alone — to  be  let 
alone — until  I  saw  fit  to  show  myself.  But  these  memo 
ries  are  all  foggy  and  mixed  with  dreams  and  night 
mares.  As  I  say,  the  next  thing  that  I  remember  dis 
tinctly  after  staggering  from  the  Colton  library  is  Do 
rinda's  knocking  at  the  door  of  my  bedroom. 

"Ros !  Roscoe !"  she  was  calling.  "Can  you  get  up 
now?  There  is  somebody  downstairs  waitin'  to  see 
you." 

I  turned  over  in  bed  and  began  to  collect  my  senses. 

"What  time  is  it,  Dorinda?"  I  asked,  drowsily. 

"About  ten,  or  a  little  after." 

Ten !  Then  I  had  not  slept  so  long,  after  all.  It  was 
nearly  four  when  I  went  to  bed  and  .  .  .  But  what 
made  the  room  so  light?  There  was  no  lamp.  And  the 
windows  ...  I  sat  up. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  it  is  ten  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon!"  I  cried. 

"Um-hm.  I  hated  to  disturb  you.  You've  been  sleep- 
in'  like  the  everlastin'  hills  and  I  knew  you  must  be  com 
pletely  wore  out.  But  I  felt  pretty  sartin  you'd  want  to 
see  the — who  'tis  that  here's  to  see  you,  so  I  decided  to 
wake  you  up." 

441 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"It  is  high  time  you  did,  I  should  think !  I'll  be  down 
in  a  minute.  Who  is  it  that  wishes  to  see  me,  Dorinda  ?" 

But  Dorinda  had  gone.  I  dressed  hurriedly  and  de 
scended  the  stairs  to  the  dining-room.  There,  seated  in 
a  chair  by  the  door,  his  eyes  closed,  his  chin  resting 
upon  his  chest,  and  his  aristocratic  nose  proclaiming  the 
fact  that  he  slumbered,  was  Johnson,  the  Colton  butler. 
I  was  not  greatly  surprised.  I  had  rather  suspected  that 
my  caller  might  be  he,  or  some  other  messenger  from 
the  big  house. 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  my  entrance  and  awoke. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  stammered.  "I — I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I'm  sure.  I've  been — I  'aven't 
closed  my  eyes  for  the  past  two  nights,  sir,  and  I  am 
tired  out.  Mr.  Colton  wishes  to  see  you  at  once,  sir. 
He  wishes  you  to  come  over  immediately." 

I  was  surprised  now.  "Mr.  Colton  wishes  it,"  I  re 
peated.  "You  mean  Miss  Colton,  don't  you,  Johnson." 

"No,  sir.  It  is  Mr.  Colton  this  time,  sir.  Miss  Colton 
is  out  in  the  motor,  sir." 

"But  Mr.  Colton  is  too  ill  to  see  me,  or  anyone  else." 

"No,  sir,  he  isn't.  He's  very  much  better.  He's  quite 
himself,  sir,  really.  And  he  is  very  anxious  to  see  you. 
On  a  matter  of  business,  he  says." 

I  hesitated.  I  had  expected  this,  though  not  so  soon. 
He  wanted  to  ask  questions  concerning  my  crazy  dip 
into  his  financial  affairs,  doubtless.  Well,  I  should  have 
to  see  him  some  time  or  other,  and  it  might  as  well  be 
now. 

I  called  to  Dorinda,  who  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  bade 
her  tell  Mother,  if  she  inquired  for  me,  that  I  had  gone 
out,  but  would  be  back  soon.  Then  Johnson  and  I 
walked  briskly  along  the  bluff  path.  We  entered  the  big 
house. 

442 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Mr.  Colton  is  in  his  room,  sir,"  explained  the  butler. 
"You  are  to  see  him  there.  This  way,  sir." 

But  before  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Doctor 
Quimby  came  out  of  the  library.  He  and  I  shook  hands. 
The  doctor  was  a  happy  man. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  "what's  the  matter  with  the 
one-horse,  country- jay  doctor  now,  hey!  If  there  is 
any  one  of  the  Boston  specialists  at  a  hundred  a  visit 
who  can  yank  a  man  out  of  a  serious  sickness  and  put 
him  on  his  feet  quicker  than  I  can,  why  trot  him  along, 
that's  all !  I  want  to  see  him !  I've  been  throwing  bou 
quets  at  myself  for  the  last  ten  hours.  Ho !  ho !  Say, 
Ros,  you'll  think  my  head  is  swelled  pretty  bad,  won't 
you!  Ho!  ho!" 

I  asked  how  the  patient  was  getting  on. 

"Fine !  Tip-top !  The  only  trouble  is  that  he  ought 
to  keep  perfectly  quiet  and  not  do  a  thing  or  think  of  a 
thing,  except  getting  his  strength  back,  for  the  next 
week.  But  he  hadn't  been  conscious  more  than  a  couple 
of  hours  before  he  was  asking  questions  about  business 
and  so  on.  He  and  his  daughter  had  a  long  confab  this 
morning  and  after  that  he  was  neither  to  bind  or  tie.  He 
must  see  you,  that's  all  there  was  to  it.  Say,  Ros,  what 
did  you  and  Phin  Cahoon  and  the  Colton  girl  do  yes 
terday  ?" 

"Oh,  we  put  through  one  of  Mr.  Colton's  little  trades 
for  him,  that's  all." 

"That's  all,  hey !  Well,  whatever  'twas,  he  and  I  owe 
you  a  vote  of  thanks.  He  began  to  get  better  the  min 
ute  he  heard  it.  He's  feeling  so  chipper  that,  if  it  wasn't 
that  I  swore  he  shouldn't,  he'd  have  got  out  of  bed 
by  this  time.  You  must  go  up  and  see  him,  I  suppose, 
but  don't  stay  too  long.  He's  a  wonder  for  strength 
and  recuperative  powers,  but  don't  tire  him  too 

443 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

much.  If  that  wife  of  his  was  in  Europe  or  some 
where,  I'd  feel  easier.  She's  the  most  tiring  thing  in 
the  house." 

Johnson  led  the  way  upstairs.  At  the  chamber  door 
he  knocked  and  announced  my  presence. 

"Bring  him  in!  What  is  he  waiting  for?"  demanded 
a  voice  which,  considering  how  recently  its  owner  had 
been  at  death's  door,  was  surprisingly  strong.  I  entered 
the  room. 

He  was  in  bed,  propped  up  with  pillows.  Beside  him 
sat  Mrs.  Colton.  Of  the  two  she  looked  the  more  dis 
turbed.  Her  eyes  were  wet  and  she  was  dabbing  at  them 
with  a  lace  handkerchief.  Her  morning  gown  was  a 
wondrous  creation.  "Big  Jim,"  with  his  iron-gray  hair 
awry  and  his  eyes  snapping,  looked  remarkably  wide 
awake  and  alive. 

"How  are  you,  Paine?"  he  said.  "Glad  to  see  you. 
Sorry  to  bring  you  over  here,  but  I  had  to  see  you  and 
that  doctor  says  I  must  stay  in  this  room  for  a  while 
yet.  He  may  be  right.  My  understanding  is  pretty 
shaky,  I'll  admit.  You've  met  Mrs.  Colton,  haven't 
you?" 

I  bowed  and  expressed  my  pleasure  at  meeting  the 
lady.  Her  bow  was  rather  curt,  but  she  regarded  me 
with  an  astonishing  amount  of  agitated  interest.  Also 
she  showed  symptoms  of  more  tears. 

"I  don't  remember  whether  or  not  Mr.  Paine  and  I 
have  ever  been  formally  introduced,"  she  observed.  "If 
we  haven't  it  makes  no  difference,  I  suppose.  The  other 
members  of  the  family  seem  to  know  him  well  enough. 
And — and  mothers  nowadays  are  not  considered.  I — I 
must  say  that " 

She  had  recourse  to  the  lace  handkerchief.  I  could 
understand  what  the  doctor  meant  by  calling  her  the 

444 


THE   RISE    OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"most  tiring  thing  in  the  house."     Her  husband  laid  a 
hand  on  hers. 

"There,  there,  my  dear,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "don't  be 
foolish.  Sit  down,  Paine.  Henrietta,  perhaps  you  had 
better  leave  Mr.  Paine  and  I  together.  We  have  some — 
er — business  matters  to  discuss  and  you  are  tired  and 
nervous.  I  should  go  to  my  room  and  lie  down,  if  I  were 
you." 

Mrs.  Colton  accepted  the  suggestion,  but  her  accept 
ance  was  not  the  most  gracious. 

"I  am  in  the  way,  as  usual,"  she  observed,  chokingly. 
"Very  well,  I  should  be  resigned  to  that  by  this  time, 
no  doubt.  I  will  go.  But  James,  for  my  sake,  don't  be 
weak.  Remember  what —  Oh,  remember  all  we  had 
hoped  and  planned !  When  I  think  of  it,  I — I —  A  no 
body  !  A  person  without  .  .  .  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

The  handkerchief  was  in  active  operation.  She  swept 
past  me  to  the  door.  There  she  turned. 

"I  may  forgive  you  some  time,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  sobbed. 
"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to.  I  can't  do  anything  else. 
But  don't  ask  me  to  do  it  now.  That  would  be  too 
much!" 

The  door  closed  and  I  heard  her  sobs  as  she  marched 
down  the  hall.  To  say  that  I  was  amazed  and  decidedly 
uncomfortable  would  be  a  very  mild  estimate  of  my  feel 
ings.  Why  should  I  expect  her  to  forgive  me?  What 
had  I  done?  I — or  luck  and  I  together — had  saved  one 
of  her  husband's  stock  speculations  from  ending  in 
smash ;  but  that  was  no  injury  for  which  I  should  beg 
forgiveness.  At  least  I  could  not  see  that  it  was. 

Colton  looked  after  her  with  a  troubled  expression. 

"Nerves  are  the  devil,  aren't  they,"  he  observed.  "And 
nerves  and  a  woman  together  are  worse  than  that.  My 
wife,  Paine,  is — well,  she  hasn't  been  in  good  health  for 

445 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

a  long  time  and  Mabel  and  I  have  done  our  best  to  give 
her  her  own  way.  When  you've  had  your  own  way  for 
years  it  rather  hurts  to  be  checkmated.  I  know  that 
from  experience.  She'll  feel  better  about  it  by  and  by." 

"Better  about  what?"  I  demanded,  involuntarily.  "I 
don't  understand  Mrs.  Colton's  meaning  in  the  least." 

He  looked  at  me  keenly  for  a  moment  without  speak 
ing. 

"Don't  you?"  he  asked.    "You  are  sure  you  don't?" 

"Certainly  I  am  sure.  What  I  have  done  that  requires 
forgiveness  I  don't  see." 

Another  pause  and  more  scrutiny. 

"So  you  don't  understand  what  she  means,  hey?"  he 
said  again.  "All  right,  all  right !  We  won't  discuss  that 
yet  a  while.  If  you  don't  understand — never  mind.  Time 
enough  for  us  to  talk  of  that  when  you  do.  But,  say, 
Paine,"  with  one  of  his  dry  smiles,  "who  taught  you  to 
buck  a  stock  pool?" 

This  question  I  could  understand.  I  had  expected 
this. 

"No  one  taught  me,"  I  answered.  "If  I  had  any 
knowledge  at  all  in  that  direction  I  was  born  with  it, 
I  guess.  A  form  of  original  sin." 

"It's  a  mighty  profitable  sort  of  wickedness — for  me. 
Young  man,  do  you  realize  what  you  did  ?  How  do  you 
expect  me  to  thank  you  for  that,  hey?" 

"I  don't  expect  you  to  thank  me  at  all.  It  was  bull 
luck  that  won  for  you,  Mr.  Colton.  Bull  luck  and  des 
peration  on  my  part.  Miss  Colton  sent  for  me  to  help 
her.  Your  confidential  man,  Davis,  refused  to  make  a 
move  without  orders  from  you.  You  couldn't  give  any 
orders.  Someone  had  to  do  something,  or,  so  it  seemed 
to  your  daughter  and  me,  your  Louisville  and  Trans 
continental  deal  was  a  gone  goose." 

446 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"It  was  more  than  that.  I  might  have  come  pretty 
near  being  a  gone  goose  along  with  it.  Not  quite  gone, 
perhaps — I  should  have  had  a  few  cents  left  in  the  stock 
ing — but  I  should  have  lost  a  lot  more  than  I  care  to 
lose.  So  it  was  bull  luck,  hey?  I  don't  believe  it.  Tell 
me  the  whole  story,  from  beginning  to  end,  will  you? 
Mabel  has  told  me  some,  but  I  want  to  hear  it  all.  Go 
ahead!" 

I  thought  of  Quimby's  warning.  "I'm  afraid  I 
should  tire  you,  Mr.  Colton.  It  is  a  long  story,  if  I 
give  particulars." 

"Never  mind,  you  give  them.  That  'tiring'  business  is 
some  more  of  that  doctor's  foolishness.  He  makes  me 
tired,  all  right.  You  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know  or 
I'll  get  out  of  this  bed  and  shake  it  out  of  you." 

He  looked  as  if  he  meant  to  carry  out  his  threat. 
I  began  my  tale  at  the  beginning  and  went  on  to  the 
astonishing  end. 

"Don't  ask  me  why  I  did  this  or  that,  Mr.  Colton," 
I  concluded.  "I  don't  know.  I  think  I  was  off  my  head 
part  of  the  time.  But  something  had  to  be  done.  I  tried 
to  look  at  the  affair  in  a  common-sense  way,  and " 

"And,  having  common-sense,  you  used  it.  Pakie, 
you're  a  brick !  Your  kind  of  common-sense  is  so  rare 
that  it's  worth  paying  any  price  for.  Ha!  ha!  So  it 
was  Keene  and  his  'Development  Company'  that  gave 
you  the  idea.  That's  good!  That  little  failure  of  mine 
wasn't  altogether  a  failure,  after  all.  You  saw  it  was 
a  case  where  a  bluff  might  win,  and  you  had  the  sand 
to  bluff  it  through.  That  comes  of  living  so  long  where 
there  is  more  sand  than  anything  else,  I  imagine,  hey ! 
Ha!  ha!  Well,  bull  luck  or  insanity  or  whatever  you 
call  it,  it  did  the  trick.  Of  course  I'm  more  obliged 
to  you  than  I  can  tell.  You  know  that." 

447 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"That's  aH  right,  Mr.  Colton.  Now  I  think  I  must 
be  going.  You've  talked  enough." 

"You  sit  still.  I  haven't  begun  to  talk  yet.  Paine, 
before  you  did  this  thing  for  me  I  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
you.  I  believed  there  was  good  stuff  in  you  and  that 
I  could  use  you  in  my  business.  Now  I  know  I  can't 
afford  to  do  without  you.  .  .  .  Stop!  let  me  finish. 
Young  man,  I  told  you  once  that  when  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  do  a  thing,  I  always  did  it.  Always;  do  you 
understand?  I  am  going  to  get  you.  You  are  coming 
with  me." 

I  had  foreseen  this,  of  course.  But  I  had  hoped  to 
get  away  from  that  room  before  he  reached  the  point. 
He  had  reached  it,  however,  and  perhaps  it  was  as  well 
he  had.  We  would  end  this  for  all  time. 

"Mr.  Colton,"  I  answered,  "you  have  a  monopoly  of 
some  things,  but  of  others  you  have  not.  I  am  just  as 
determined  to  have  my  own  way  in  this  matter  as  you 
are.  I  shall  not  accept  your  offer  of  employment.  That 
is  final." 

"Final  be  damned!     Young  man " 

"Mr.  Colton,  if  you  persist  I  shall  go  away." 

"Go  away!     Before  I  tell  you  to?     Why,  you " 

I  rose.  "The  doctor  told  me  that  you  must  not  ex 
cite  yourself,"  I  said.  "I  am  going.  Good-by." 

He  was  excited,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  He  sat 
tip  in  bed. 

"You  come  back !"  he  ordered.  "Come  back !  If  you 
don't —  Well,  by  the  Lord,  if  you  don't  I'll  get  up  and 
come  after  you !" 

I  believe  he  would  have  tried  to  do  it.  I  was  fright 
ened,  on  his  account.  I  turned  reluctantly.  He  sank 
back  on  the  pillow,  grinning  triumphantly. 

"Sit  down  there,"  he  panted.     "Sit  down.     Now  ' 

448 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

want  you  to  tell  me  the  real  reason  why  you  won't  work 
for  me.  By  gad!  you're  the  first  one  in  many  a  day  I 
have  had  to  ask  twice.  Why?  Tell  me  the  truth! 
Why?" 

I  hesitated.  "Well,  for  one  reason,"  I  said,  "I  don't 
care  for  your  business." 

"Don't  care  for  it!    After  what  you  just  did!" 

"I  did  that  because  I  was  driven  to  it.  But  I  don't 
care  for  the  stock  game.  Once  I  used  to  think  I  liked 
that  sort  of  thing;  now  I  know  I  don't.  If  I  am  any 
thing  I  am  a  bank  man,  a  poor  sort  of  one,  perhaps, 
but " 

"Bank  man !  Why,  you  idiot !  I  don't  care  what  you 
are.  I  can  use  you  in  a  dozen  places.  You  don't  have 
to  buck  the  market.  I'll  do  that  myself.  But  there  are 
plenty  of  places  where  your  brains  and  that  common- 
sense  you  talk  about  will  be  invaluable  to  me.  I  do  a 
banking  business,  on  the  side,  myself.  I  own  a  mining 
property,  a  good  one,  out  West.  It  needs  a  financial 
manager,  and  needs  one  badly.  You  come  with  me,  do 
you  hear!  I'll  place  you  where  you  fit,  before  I  get 
through  with  you,  and  I'll  make  you  a  rich  man  in  ten 
years.  There !  now  will  you  say  yes  ?" 

I  shook  my  head.     "No,"  I  said. 

"No!  You  are  enough  to  drive  a  well  man  crazy,  to 
say  nothing  of  a  half-sick  relic  like  me.  /  say  yes — yes 
— yes!  Sooner  or  later  I'll  make  you.  You've  lost  your 
place  here.  You  told  me  yourself  that  that  old  crank 
Dean  is  going  to  make  this  town  too  hot  to  hold  you. 
You'll  have  to  go  away.  Now  won't  you?" 

I  nodded.  "I  shall  go  away,"  I  answered.  "I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  go,  now  that  Mother  seems  well 
enough  for  me  to  leave  her." 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

449 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"I  don't  know." 

He  stared  at  me  in  silence  for  what  seemed  a  long 
time.  I  thought  he  must  be  exhausted,  and  once  more 
I  rose  to  go. 

"Stop !  Stay  where  you  are,"  he  ordered.  "I  haven't 
got  the  answer  to  you  yet,  and  I  know  it.  There's  some 
thing  back  of  all  this,  something  I  don't  know  about. 
I'm  going  to  find  out  what  it  is,  if  it  takes  me  a  year. 
You  can  tell  me  now,  if  you  want  to.  It  will  save  time. 
What  is  the  real  reason  why  you  won't  take  my 
offer?" 

I  don't  know  why  I  did  it.  I  had  kept  the  secret  all 
the  years  and  certainly,  when  I  entered  that  room,  I  had 
no  intention  of  revealing  it.  Yet,  now,  when  he  asked 
this  question  I  turned  on  him  and  blurted  out  what  I 
had  sworn  no  one — least  of  all  he  or  his — should  ever 
know. 

"I'll  tell  you  why,"  I  cried,  desperately.  "I  can't  take 
the  place  you  offer  because  you  know  nothing  about  me. 
You  don't  know  who  I  am.  If  you  did  you  ....  Mr. 
Colton,  you  don't  even  know  my  name." 

He  looked  at  me  and  shook  his  head,  impatiently. 
"Either  you  are  crazy,  or  I  am,"  he  muttered.  "Don't 
know  your  name!" 

"No,  you  don't !  You  think  I  am  Roscoe  Paine.  I  am 
not.  I  am  Roscoe  Bennett,  and  my  father  was  Carleton 
Bennett,  the  embezzler." 

I  had  said  it.  And  the  moment  afterward  I  was  sorry. 
I  would  have  given  anything  to  take  back  the  words, 
but  repentance  came  too  late.  I  had  said  it. 

I  heard  him  draw  a  deep  breath.  I  did  not  look  at 
him.  I  did  not  care  to  see  his  face  and  read  on  it  the 
disgust  and  contempt  I  was  sure  it  expressed. 

"Humph !"  he  exclaimed.    "Humph !    Do  you  mean  to 

450 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

tell  me  that  your  father  was  Carleton  Bennett — Bennett 
of  Bennett  and  Company?" 

"Yes." 

"Well!  well!  well!  Carleton  Bennett!  No  wonder 
there  was  something  familiar  about  your  mother,  some 
thing  that  I  seemed  to  remember.  I  met  her  years  ago. 
Well !  well !  So  you're  Carleton  Bennett's  son  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  his  son." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

I  looked  at  him  now.  He  was  smiling,  actually  smil 
ing.  His  illness  had  affected  his  mind. 

"What  of  it !"  I  gasped. 

"Ye-es,  what  of  it?  What  has  that  got  to  do  with 
your  working  for  me?" 

I  could  have  struck  him.  If  he  had  not  been  weak 
and  ill  and  irresponsible  for  what  he  was  saying  I  think 
I  should. 

"Mr.  Colton,"  I  said,  striving  to  speak  calmly,  "you 
don't  understand.  My  father  was  Carleton  Bennett,  the 
embezzler,  the  thief,  the  man  whose  name  was  and  is 
a  disgrace  all  over  the  country.  Mother  and  I  came  here 
to  hide  from  that  disgrace,  to  begin  a  new,  clean  life 
under  a  clean  name.  Do  you  think — ?  Oh,  you  don't 
understand !" 

"I  understand  all  right.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have 
understood.  I  see  now  why  a  clever  man  like  you  was 
willing  to  spend  his  days  in  a  place  like  Denboro.  Well, 
you  aren't  going  to  spend  any  more  of  them  there. 
You're  going  to  let  me  make  something  worth  while  out 
of  you." 

This  sounded,  in  one  way,  like  sanity.  But  in  an 
other 

"Mr.  Colton,"  I  cried,  "even  if  you  meant  it,  which 
you  don't — do  you  suppose  I  would  go  back  to  New 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

York,  where  so  many  know  me,  and  enter  your  employ 
under  an  assumed  name?  Run  the  risk  of — — " 

"Hush !  Enter  it  under  your  own  name.  It's  a  good 
name.  The  Bennetts  are  one  of  our  oldest  families.  Ask 
my  wife;  she'll  tell  you  that." 

"A  good  name!" 

"Yes.  I  declare,  Paine — Bennett,  I  mean — I  shall  be 
gin  to  believe  you  haven't  got  the  sense  I  credited  you 
with.  I  can  see  what  has  been  the  matter  with  you. 
You  came  here,  you  and  your  sick  mother,  with  the 
scandal  of  your  father's  crookedness  hanging  over  you 
and  her  sickness  making  her  super-sensitive,  and  you  two 
kept  the  secret  and  brooded  over  it  so  long  that  you 
have  come  to  think  you  are  criminals,  too.  You're  not. 
You  haven't  done  anything  crooked.  What's  the  matter 
with  you,  man?  Be  sensible!" 

"Sensible!" 

"Yes,  sensible,  if  you  can.  I  don't  care  who  your 
father  was.  He  was  a  smart  banker,  before  he  went 
wrong,  and  I  can  see  now  where  you  inherited  your 
ability.  But  never  mind  that.  He's  dead;  let  him  stay 
so.  I'm  not  trying  to  get  him.  It's  you  I  want." 

"You  want  me!  Do  you  mean  you  would  take  me 
into  your  employ,  knowing  who  I  am?" 

"Sure!  It  is  because  I  know  what  you  are  that  I 
want  you." 

"Mr.  Colton,  you — I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you." 

"Try  saying  'yes'  and  see  how  it  seems.  It  will  be  a 
change,  anyhow." 

"No,  no !    I  cannot ;  it  is  impossible." 

"Oh,  you  make  me  weary!  .  .  .  Humph!  What 
is  it  now?  Any  more  'reasons'?" 

"Yes."  I  faced  him  squarely.  "Yes,"  I  said,  "there 
is  another  reason,  one  that  makes  it  impossible,  utterly 

452 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

impossible,  if  nothing  else  did.  When  I  tell  you  what 
it  is  you  will  understand  what  I  mean  and  agree  with  me. 
Your  daughter  and  I  have  been  thrown  together  a  great 
deal  since  she  came  to  Denboro.  Our  meetings  have  not 
been  of  my  seeking,  nor  of  hers.  Of  late  I  have  realized 
that,  for  my  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  my  peace  of 
mind,  I  must  not  meet  her.  I  must  not  be  where  she  is. 


"Here!  Stop!"  he  broke  in  sharply.  "What  is  this? 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  and  Mabel " 

"It  is  not  her  fault.  It  is  my  own,  entirely.  Mr.  Col- 
ton,  I " 

"Stop,  I  tell  you !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
are — that  you  have  been  making  love  to  my  daughter?" 

"No.     Certainly  not." 

"Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  That  she  has  been  making 
love  to  you?" 

"Mr.  Colton " 

"There!  Don't  act  like  the  Wild  Man  of  Borneo. 
Do  you  mean  that  you  are  in  love  with  her?" 

"Don't  you  see  now  why  I  cannot  accept?  I  must  go 
away.  I  am  going." 

"Humph!  That  will  do.  ...  Humph!  Well, 
Paine — Bennett,  I  should  say ;  it  is  hard  to  keep  track  of 
your  names — you  are  rather — er — reckless,  it  seems  to 
me.  Mabel  is  our  only  child  and  her  mother  and  I,  nat 
urally,  had  planned  for  her  future  .  .  .  Have  you 
told  her  of  your — recklessness?" 

"Of  course  not!  I  shall  not  see  her  again.  I  shall 
teave  Denboro  as  soon  as  I  can.  She  will  never  know." 

"Humph!  I  see  ...  I  see  ...  Well,  I  don't 
-mow  that  there  is  anything  for  me  to  say." 

"There  is  not." 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  of  course." 

453 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Thank  you." 

There  was  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door.  Doctor  Quimby 
Opened  it  and  entered  the  room.  He  glanced  from  me 
to  his  patient  and  his  face  expressed  sharp  disapproval. 

"You'd  better  go,  Ros,"  he  snapped.  "What  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  excite  him." 

"I'm  not  excited,"  observed  Colton,  drily. 

"Clear  out  this  minute!"  continued  the  angry  doctor. 
"Ros  Paine,  I  thought  you  had  more  sense." 

"So  did  I,"  this  from  "Big  Jim".  "However,  I  am 
learning  a  lot  these  days.  Good-by,  Paine." 

I  was  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  called  after  me,  "let  me  make  a 
suggestion.  If  I  were  you,  Roscoe,  I  wouldn't  leave 
Denboro  to-day.  Not  before  to-morrow  morning,  at  any 
rate." 

I  did  not  understand  him  and  I  asked  for  no  explana 
tion.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  addressed  me  by  my 
Christian  name,  but  it  was  not  until  afterward  that  I 
remembered  that  fact. 


That  afternoon  I  was  alone  in  my  haven  of  refuge, 
the  boathouse.  Mother  and  I  had  had  a  long  talk.  I 
told  her  everything  that  had  transpired.  I  kept  back 
nothing,  either  of  my  acts  or  my  feelings.  She  said 
she  was  not  sorry  for  what  I  had  done.  She  was  rather 
glad,  than  otherwise,  that  I  had  disclosed  our  secret  to 
Mr.  Colton. 

"He  knows  now,  Roscoe,"  she  said.  "And  he  was 
right,  too.  You  and  I  have  brooded  over  our  sorrow 
and  what  we  considered  our  disgrace  much  more  than 
we  should.  He  is  right,  Boy.  We  are  innocent  of  any 
wrong-doing." 

454 


THE   RISE   OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Yes,  Mother,"  I  answered,  "I  suppose  we  are.  But 
we  must  keep  the  secret  still.  No  one  else  in  Denboro 
must  know.  You  know  what  gossip  there  would  be. 
There  is  enough  now.  I  presume  I  am  called  a  traitor 
and  a  blackguard  by  every  person  in  the  town." 

"Why  no,  you  are  not.  That  is  the  strange  thing 
about  it.  Luther  was  up  at  the  post-office  this  morning 
and  no  one  seems  to  know  of  your  sale  of  the  land.  Cap 
tain  Dean  has,  apparently,  kept  the  news  to  himself. 
Why  do  you  suppose  he  does  that?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  he 
— no,  I  can't  understand  it  at  all.  However,  they  will 
know  soon  enough.  By  the  way,  I  have  never  asked 
Dorinda  where  Lute  was  that  noon — it  seems  ages  ago — 
when  he  was  missing  at  dinner  time.  And  how  did  he 
know  of  Mr.  Colton's  illness?" 

She  smiled.  "Poor  Luther!"  she  said.  "He  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  running  away,  you  remember. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  met  the  Coltons'  chauffeur  in 
the  motor  car  and  the  chauffeur  invited  him  to  go  to 
Bayport  with  him.  The  chauffeur  had  an  errand  there. 
Lute  accepted — as  he  says,  automobile  rides  don't  come 
his  way  every  day  in  the  week — and  they  had  trouble 
with  the  engine  and  did  not  get  back  until  almost  night. 
Then  Miss  Colton  told  him  of  her  father's  seizure  and 
gave  him  the  note  for  you.  It  was  to  you  she  turned 
in  her  trouble,  Boy.  She  trusts  you.  Roscoe,  I — I  think 
she " 

"Don't  say  it,  Mother.  All  that  is  ended.  I  am  going 
to  forget — if  I  can." 

The  rest  of  our  conversation  need  not  be  written 
here.  She  said  many  things,  such  as  fond  mothers  say 
to  their  sons  and  which  the  sons  know  too  well  they  do 
not  deserve.  We  discussed  my  leaving  Denboro  and  she 

455 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

was  so  brave  and  self-sacrificing  that  my  conscience 
smote  me. 

"I'll  stay,  Mother,"  I  said.  "I  can't  leave  you.  I'll 
stay  and  fight  it  out  with  you.  After  all,  it  will  not  be 
much  worse  than  it  was  before  I  went  to  the  bank." 

But  she  would  not  hear  of  my  staying.  I  had  a  friend 
in  Chicago,  a  distant  relative  who  knew  our  story.  Per 
haps  he  could  help  me  to  a  start  somewhere.  She  kissed 
me  and  bade  me  keep  up  my  courage,  and  I  left  her. 
I  ate  a  hurried  meal,  a  combination  of  breakfast  and 
dinner,  and,  dodging  Lute,  who  was  in  the  back  yard 
waiting  to  question  me  concerning  the  Coltons,  walked 
down  to  the  boathouse.  There,  in  my  armchair,  I  tried 
to  think,  to  map  out  some  sort  of  plan  for  my  future. 

It  was  a  hopeless  task.  I  was  not  interested  in  it. 
I  did  not  much  care  what  became  of  me.  If  it  were  not 
for  Mother  I  should  not  have  cared  at  all.  Nevertheless, 
for  her  sake,  I  must  try  to  plan,  and  I  did. 

I  was  still  trying  when  I  heard  footsteps  approaching 
the  door,  the  small  door  at  the  side,  not  the  big  one  in 
front.  I  did  not  rise  to  open  the  door,  nor  did  I  turn 
my  head.  The  visitor  was  Lute,  probably,  and  if  I  kept 
still  he  might  think  I  was  not  within  and  go  away  again. 

The  door  opened.  "Here  he  is,"  said  a  voice,  a  voice 
that  I  recognized.  I  turned  quickly  and  sprang  to  my 
feet.  Standing  behind  me  was  Captain  Jedediah  Dean 
and  with  him  George  Taylor — George  Taylor,  who 
should  have  been — whom  I  had  supposed  to  be  in  Wash 
ington  with  his  bride ! 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Captain  Jed,  again.  "Well,  Ros, 
we've  come  to  see  you." 

But  I  paid  no  attention  to  him.  It  was  his  compan 
ion  I  was  staring  at.  What  was  he  doing  here? 

"George!"  I  cried.    "George!" 

456 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

He  stepped  forward  and  held  out  his  hand.  He  was 
smiling,  but  there  was  a  look  in  his  eye  which  expressed 
the  exact  opposite  of  smiles. 

"Ros,"  he  said,  quietly,  "Ros  Paine,  you  bull-headed, 
big-hearted  old  chump,  how  are  you?" 

But  I  could  only  stare  at  him.  Why  had  he  come 
to  Denboro  ?  What  did  his  coming  to  me  mean  ?  Why 
had  he  come  with  Captain  Jed,  the  man  who  had  vowed 
that  he  was  done  with  me  forever?  And  why  was  the 
captain  looking  at  me  so  oddly? 

"George!"  I  cried  in  alarm,  "George,  you  haven't — 
you  haven't  made  a  fool  of  yourself  ?  You  haven't " 

Captain  Jed  interrupted  me.  "He  ain't  the  fool,  Ros," 
he  said.  "That  is,  he  ain't  now.  I'm  the  fool.  I  ought 
to  have  known  better.  Ros,  I — I  don't  know's  you'll  give 
it  to  me,  but  anyhow  I'm  goin'  to  ask  it;  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"Ros,"  said  Taylor,  before  I  could  reply,  "don't  stand 
staring  as  if  you  were  petrified.  Sit  down  and  let  me 
look  at  you.  You  pig-headed  old  idiot,  you!  What  do 
you  mean  by  it?  What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

He  pushed  me  into  the  chair  I  had  just  vacated.  Cap 
tain  Dean  took  another.  George  remained  standing. 

"He  is  petrified,  I  do  believe !"  he  exclaimed. 

But  my  petrification  was  only  temporary.  I  was  be 
ginning  to  understand,  and  to  be  more  alarmed  than 
ever. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  in  Denboro?"  I  demanded. 

Captain  Jed  answered  for  him.  "He's  here  because 
I  telegraphed  for  him  yesterday,"  he  said.  "I  wired  him 
to  come  straight  home  and  take  charge  of  the  bank.  I 
had  fired  you,  like  the  dumb  fool  I  was,  and  I  wanted 
him  to  take  command.  He  got  here  on  the  mornin' 
train." 

457 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

I  remembered  what  Phin  Gaboon  had  said  about  the 
telegram  and  the  captain's  making  him  promise  not  to 
mention  the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  it  was  sent. 
It  was  George,  of  course.  If  I  had  been  in  a  normal 
state  of  mind  when  Phin  told  me  I  should  have  guessed 
as  much. 

Taylor  took  up  the  conversation.  "Yes,  I  got  here," 
he  said.  "And  when  I  got  here — or  a  little  before — " 
with  a  glance  at  the  captain — "I  found  out  what  had 
Nen  going  on  since  I  left.  You  old  chump,  Ros  Paine ! 
[What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

I  looked  at  him  and  then  at  his  companion.  What  I 
Saw  there  confirmed  my  worst  suspicions. 

"George,"  I  said,  "if  you  have  told  him  you  must 
be  crazy." 

"I  was  crazy  not  to  tell  him  before.  I  was  crazy  not 
to  guess  what  you  had  been  up  to.  But  I  didn't  suppose 
anybody  would  be  crazy  enough  to  do  what  you  did,  Ros. 
1  didn't  imagine  for  a  minute  that  you  would  be  crazy 
enough  to  throw  away  your  job  and  get  yourself  into 
the  trouble  you  knew  was  sure  to  come,  just  to  help  me. 
[To  help  me,  by  the  Lord!  Ros!  Ros!  what  can  I  say  to 
you!" 

"You've  said  enough,  and  more  than  enough,"  I  an 
swered,  bitterly.  "I  did  what  I  did  so  that  you  might 
keep  your  secret.  I  did  it  to  help  you  and  Nellie.  And 
if  you  had  kept  still  no  one  need  ever  have  known,  no  one 
but  you  and  I,  George,  And  now  you " 

"Shut  up,  Ros !"  he  interrupted.  "Shut  up,  I  tell  you ! 
Why,  confound  you,  what  do  you  think  I  am?  Do  you 
suppose  I  would  let  you  sacrifice  yourself  like  that, 
•while  I  set  still  and  saw  you  kicked  out  of  town  ?  What 
do  you  think  I  am?" 

"But  what  was  the  use  of  it?"  I  demanded.     "It  was 

458 


done.  Nothing  you  could  say  would  change  it.  For 
Nellie's  sake " 

"There!  there!"  broke  in  Captain  Jed,  "Nellie  knows. 
George  told  her  the  day  they  was  married.  He  told 
her  before  they  was  married.  He  was  man  enough  to  do 
that  and  I  honor  him  for  it.  If  he'd  only  come  to  me 
then  it  would  have  been  a  mighty  sight  better.  I'd 
have  understood  when  I  heard  about  your  sellin'  Colton 
the  land,  and  I  wouldn't  have  made  a  jackass  of  myself 
by  treatin'  you  as  I  done.  You !  the  man  that  sacrificed 
yourself  to  keep  my  girl  from  breakin'  her  heart !  When 
I  think  what  you  saved  us  all  from  I— I —  By  the  Al 
mighty,  Ros  Paine!  I'll  make  it  up  to  you  somehow.  I 
will!  I  swear  I  will!" 

He  turned  away  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
George  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  am  the  one  to  make  it  up,  Cap'n,"  he  said,  solemnly. 
"If  I  live  I'll  make  it  up  to  Ros  here,  and  to  you,  and  to 
Nellie,  God  bless  her !  I  expected  you  would  never  speak 
to  me  again  when  I'd  told  you.  Telling  you — next  to 
telling  Nellie — was  the  toughest  job  I  ever  tackled.  But 
I'll  make  it  up  to  you  both,  and  to  Ros.  Thank  the  Lord, 
it  ain't  too  late  to  make  it  up  to  him !" 

"We'll  both  make  it  up  to  him,  George,"  replied  Cap 
tain  Jed.  "As  far  as  we  can,  we  will.  If  he  wants  to 
corne  back  to  the  bank  this  minute  he  can.  We'll  be 
proud  to  have  him.  But  I  cal'late,"  with  a  smile,  "he'll 
have  bigger  fish  to  fry  than  we  can  give  him.  If  what 
we've  just  heard  is  true,  he  will." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  answered.  "And 
as  for  the  bank — well,  you  forget  one  thing :  I  sold  the 
Shore  Lane  and  the  town  knows  it.  How  long  would 
the  other  directors  tolerate  me  in  that  bank,  after  that, 
do  you  think  ?" 

459 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

To  my  surprise  they  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 
Captain  Dean  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you're  mistook,  Ros.  The  town  don't 
know  you  sold  it.  I  didn't  tell  'em  because  I  wanted 
George  in  command  of  that  bank  afore  the  row  broke 
loose.  I  lamed  of  the  sale  myself,  by  chance,  over  to 
Ostable  and  I  never  told  anybody  except  Dorindy  Rogers 
and  her  fool  of  a  husband.  I'll  see  that  they  keep  still 
tongues  in  their  heads.  And  as  for  the  Lane — well,  that 
won't  be  closed.  Colton  don't  own  it  no  more." 

"Don't  own  it,"  I  repeated.  "Don't  own  it!  He 
does.  I  sold  it  to  him  myself." 

"Yes.  And  George,  here,  bought  it  back  not  an  hour 
ago.  We  saw  His  Majesty — sick  in  bed  he  was,  but 
just  as  high  and  mighty  and  independent  as  ever — and 
George  bought  back  the  land  and  the  Lane  for  thirty- 
five  hundred  dollars.  The  old  man  didn't  seem  to  give 
a  durn  about  it  any  more.  He'd  had  his  own  way,  he 
said,  and  that  was  all  he  cared  about.  Besides,  he  ain't 
goin'  to  stay  in  Denboro  much  longer.  The  old  lady — 
his  wife — is  sick  of  the  place  and  he  only  come  here  on 
her  account.  He  cal'lates  that  New  York  is  good  enough 
for  him.  I  cal'late  'tis.  Anyhow,  Denboro  won't  hang 
onto  his  coattails  to  hold  him  back.  Tell  Ros  the  whole 
story,  George." 

George  told  it,  beginning  with  his  receipt  of  his  father- 
in-law's  telegram  and  his  hurried  return  to  the  Cape. 
He  had  gone  directly  to  Captain  Dean  and  confessed  the 
whole  thing.  The  captain  had  behaved  like  a  trump,  I 
learned.  Instead  of  denouncing  his  daughter's  husband 
he  had  forgiven  him  freely.  Then  they  had  gone  to  see 
Colton  and  George  had  bought  the  land. 

"And  I  shall  give  it  to  the  town,"  he  said.  "It's  the 
least  I  can  do.  You  wonder  where  the  money  came 

460 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

from,  Ros?  I  guess  you  ain't  seen  the  newspapers. 
There  was  a  high  old  time  in  the  stock  market  yesterday 
and  Louisville  and  Transcontinental  climbed  half-way 
to  the  moon.  From  being  a  pauper  I'm  pretty  well 
fixed." 

"I'm  heartily  glad  of  it,  George,"  I  said.  "But  there 
is  one  thing  I  don't  understand.  You  say  you  learned 
of  my  selling  the  land  before  you  reached  Denboro.  Cap 
tain  Jed  says  no  one  but  he  and  my  people  knew  it.  How 
did  you  find  it  out?" 

Again  my  two  callers  looked  at  each  other. 

"Why,  somebody — a  friend  of  yours — come  to  me  at 
the  Ostable  station  and  dragged  Nellie  and  me  off  the 
train.  We  rode  with  that  person  the  rest  of  the  way 
and — the  said  person  told  us  what  had  happened  and 
begged  us  to  help  you.  Seemed  to  have  made  a  mid 
dling  good  guess  that  I  could  help,  if  I  would." 

"A  person — a  friend  of  mine!  Why,  I  haven't  any 
friend,  any  friend  who  knew  the  truth,  or  could  guess." 

"Yes,  you  have." 

"Who  was  it?" 

George  laughed  aloud  and  Captain  Jed  laughed  with 
him. 

"I  guess  I  shan't  tell  you,"  said  the  former.  "I  prom 
ised  I  wouldn't." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THEY  left  me  soon  after  this.  I  tried  to  make 
them  tell  who  the  mysterious  friend  might  be, 
but  they  refused.  The  kind  things  they  said 
and  the  gratitude  they  both  expressed  I  shall  never  for 
get.  They  did  not  strenuously  urge  me  to  return  to  the 
bank,  and  that  seemed  strange  to  me. 

"The  job's  yours  if  you  want  it,  Ros,"  said  Captain 
Jed.  "We'd  be  only  too  happy  to  have  you  if  you'd 
come — any  time,  sooner  or  later.  But  I  don't  think  you 
will." 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  shall  not.  I  have  made  other 
plans.  I  am  going  to  leave  Denboro." 

That  did  not  seem  to  surprise  them  and  I  was  still 
more  puzzled.  They  shook  hands  and  went  away,  prom 
ising  to  call  at  the  house  that  evening  and  bring  Nellie. 

"She  wants  to  thank  you,  too,  Ros,"  said  George. 

After  they  had  gone  I  sat  by  the  big  door,  looking  out 
at  the  bay,  smooth  and  beautiful  in  the  afternoon  sun 
light,  and  thinking  of  what  they  had  told  me.  For 
Mother's  sake  I  was  very  glad.  It  would  be  easier  for 
her,  after  I  had  gone ;  the  townspeople  would  be  friendly, 
instead  of  disagreeable.  For  her  sake,  I  was  glad.  For 
myself  nothing  seemed  to  make  any  difference.  George 
Taylor's  words — those  he  had  spoken  to  me  that  fateful 
evening  when  I  found  him  with  the  revolver  beside  him 
— came  back  to  me  over  and  over.  "Wait  until  your 
time  comes.  Wait  until  the  girl  comes  along  that  you 

462 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

care  for  more  than  the  whole  world.  And  then  see 
what  you'd  do.  See  what  it  would  mean  to  give  her 
up!" 

I  was  seeing.    I  knew  now  what  it  meant. 

I  rose  and  went  out  of  the  boathouse.  I  did  not  care 
to  meet  anyone  or  speak  with  anyone.  I  strolled  along 
the  path  by  the  bluff,  my  old  walk,  that  which  I  had 
taken  so  many  times  and  with  such  varied  feelings, 
never  with  such  miserable  ones  as  now. 

The  golden-rod,  always  late  blooming  on  the  Cape, 
bordered  the  path  with  gorgeous  yellow.  The  leaves  of 
the  scrub  oaks  were  beginning  to  turn,  though  not  to 
fall.  I  walked  on  and  entered  the  grove  where  she  and 
I  had  met  after  our  adventure  with  Carver  and  the 
stranded  skiff.  I  turned  the  bend  and  saw  her  coming 
toward  me. 

I  stood  still  and  she  came  on,  came  straight  to  me  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  she  said.  "I  was  on  my  way 
to  your  house  and  I  saw  you  coming — so  I  waited." 

"You  waited,"  I  stammered.     "Why?" 

"Because  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  and  I  did  not  want 
that — that  Mr.  Rogers  of  yours  to  interrupt  me.  Why 
did  you  go  away  yesterday  without  even  letting  me  thank 
you  for  what  you  had  done  ?  Why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

"Because — because  you  were  very  busy  and — and  I 
was  tired.  I  went  home  and  to  bed." 

"You  were  tired.  You  must  have  been.  But  that  is 
no  excuse,  no  good  one.  I  came  down  and  found  you 
were  gone  without  a  word  to  me.  And  you  had  done  so 
much  for  me — for  my  father !" 

"Your  father  thanked  me  this  morning,  Miss  Colton. 
I  saw  him  in  his  room  and  he  thanked  me.  I  did  not 
deserve  thanks.  I  was  lucky,  that  was  all." 

463 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"Father  does  not  call  it  luck.     He  told  me  what  you 
said  to  him." 

"He  told  you !    Did  he  tell  you  all  I  told  him :" 

"I — I  think  so.    He  told  me  who  you  were ;  what  your 
real  name  was." 

"He  did !    And  you  were  still  willing  to  meet  me !" 

"Yes.     Why  not?    Does  it  make  any  difference  that 
you  are  Mr.  Bennett — instead  of  Mr.  Paine?" 

"But   my    father   was    Carleton    Bennett — the — the— 
You  must  have  heard  of  him." 

"I  never  knew  your  father.    I  do  know  his  son.    And 
I  am  very  proud  to  know  him." 

"But— but,  Miss  Colton." 

"Tell  me,"  she  interrupted,   quickly,  "have  you  seen 
Mr.  Taylor?    He  is  here  in  Denboro." 

"Yes.     I  have  seen  him." 

"And   he  told  you   about   the   Lane?     That  he  has 
bought  it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  will  not  be,"  with  a  smile,  "driven  from 
Denboro  by  that  cross  old  Captain  Dean?" 

"I  shall  not  be  driven — no." 

"Then  Mr.  Taylor  did  help  you.    He  promised  me  he 
would." 

"He    promised    you?     When?    When     did    you    see 
George  Taylor?" 

She  appeared  confused.     "I — I —     Of  course  I  saw 
him  at  the  house  this  noon,  when  he  came  to  see  Father." 

"But  he  could  not  have  promised  you  then.     He  had 
helped  me  already.    Did  you  see  him  before  that?" 

"Why,  how  could  I  ?    I " 

"Miss  Colton,  answer  me.     Was  it  you  that  met  him 
at  the  Ostable  station  this  morning?    Was  it?" 

464 


THE  RISE  OF  ROSCOE   PAINE 

She  was  as  red  as  the  reddest  of  the  autumn  leaves. 
She  laughed,  confusedly. 

"I  did  meet  him  there,"  she  confessed.  "That  queer 
Mr.  Cahoon,  the  station  agent,  told  me  that  Captain  Dean 
had  telegraphed  him  to  come.  I  knew  he  would  prob 
ably  be  on  that  train.  And  Mr.  Cahoon  told  me  about 
his  being  interested  in  stocks  and  very  much  troubled. 
You  had  told  me,  or  as  much  as  told  me,  that  you  sold 
the  land  to  get  money  to  help  some  one.  I  put  two  and 
two  together  and  I  guessed  the  rest.  I  met  him  and 
Nellie  and  we  rode  to  Denboro  together  in  our  auto. 
He  promised  me  that  he  would  make  everything  right 
for  you.  I  am  so  glad  he  did !" 

I  caught  my  breath  with  a  gasp. 

"You  did  that!"  I  exclaimed.  "You  did  that,  for 
me!" 

"Why  not?  Surely  you  had  done  enough  for — us.  I 
could  not  let  you  be  'driven  from  town',  you  know." 

I  did  not  speak.  I  knew  that  I  must  not  attempt  a 
reply.  I  should  say  too  much.  She  looked  up  at  me, 
and  then  down  again  at  the  pine-needles  beneath  our 
feet. 

"Father  says  he  intends  to  do  great  things  for  you," 
she  went  on.  "He  says  you  are  to  come  with  him.  He 
is  enthusiastic  about  it.  He  believes  you  are  a  great 
man.  No  one  but  a  great  man,  he  says,  could  beat  the 
Consolidated  Pacific  gang  single-handed.  He  says  you 
will  be  the  best  investment  he  ever  made." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  I  answered.  "Your  father  made 
me  a  generous  offer.  I  wish  I  might  have  been  able  to 
accept  it,  but  I  could  not." 

"Oh,  but  you  are  going  to  accept." 

"No,  I  am  not." 

465 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"He  says  you  are.  And  he  always  has  his  way,  you 
know." 

"Not  in  this  case,  Miss  Colton." 

"But  /  want  you  to  accept.  Surely  you  will  do  it  to 
oblige  me." 

"I— I  can't." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do ;  go  back  to  the  bank  ?" 

"No,  I  am  going  to  leave  Denboro.  I  don't  know 
where  I  shall  go.  This  is  good-by,  Miss  Colton.  It  is 
not  likely  that  we  shall  meet  again." 

"But  why  are  you  going?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you." 

She  was  silent,  still  looking  down  at  the  pine-needles. 
I  could  not  see  her  face.  I  was  silent  also.  I  knew 
that  I  ought  to  go,  that  I  should  not  remain  there,  with 
her,  another  moment.  Yet  I  remained. 

"So  you  think  this  is  our  parting,"  she  said.  "I  do 
not." 

"Don't  you?    I  fear  you  are  wrong." 

"I  am  not  wrong.  You  will  not  go  away,  Mr. — Ben 
nett.  At  least,  you  will  not  until  you  go  where  my  father 
sends  you.  You  will  accept  his  offer,  I  think." 

"You  are  mistaken." 

"No.  I  think  I  am  not  mistaken.  I  think  you  will 
accept  it,  because — because  I  ask  you  to." 

"I  cannot,  Miss  Colton." 

"And  your  reason?" 

"That  I  cannot  tell  anyone." 

"But  you  told  my  father." 

I  was  stricken  dumb  again. 

She  went  on,  speaking  hurriedly,  and  not  raising  her 
eyes. 

"You  told  my  father,"  she  repeated,  "and  he  told 
me." 

466 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE   PAINE 

"He  told  you !"  I  cried. 

"Yes,  he  told  me.  I — I  am  not  sure  that  he  was 
greatly  surprised.  He  thought  it  honorable  of  you  and 
he  was  very  glad  you  did  tell  him,  but  I  think  he  was 
not  surprised." 

The  oaks  and  the  pines  and  the  huckleberry  bushes 
were  dancing  great  giddy-go-rounds,  a  reflection  of  the 
whirlpool  in  my  brain.  Out  of  the  maelstrom  I  man 
aged  to  speak  somehow. 

"He  was  not  surprised!"  I  repeated.  "He  was  not — 
not —  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  drew  away  from  me  a  step, 
but  I  followed  her. 

"Why  wasn't  he  surprised?"  I  asked  again. 

"Because — because —  Oh,  I  don't  know !  What  have 
I  been  saying !  I —  Please  don't  ask  me !" 

"But  why  wasn't  he  surprised?" 

"Because — because — "  she  hesitated.  Then  suddenly 
she  looked  up  into  my  face,  her  wonderful  eyes  alight. 
"Because,"  she  said,  "I  had  told  him  myself,  sir." 

I  seized  her  hands. 

"You  had  told  him?    You  had  told  him  that  I— I " 

"No,"  with  a  swift  shake  of  the  head,  "not  you.  I — 
I  did  not  know  that — then.  I  told  him  that  I " 

But  I  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more. 

Some  time  after  that — I  do  not  know  how  long  after 
and  it  makes  no  difference  anyway — I  began  to  remem 
ber  some  resolutions  I  had  made,  resolves  to  be  self-sac 
rificing  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

"But,  my  dear,"  I  faltered,  "I  am  insane !  I  am  stark 
crazy !  How  can  I  think  of  such  a  thing !  Your  mother 
— what  will  she  say?" 

She  looked  up  at  me;  looking  up  was  not  as  difficult 
467 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

now,  and,  besides,   she  did  not  have  to  look  far.     She 
looked  up  and  smiled. 

"I  think  Mother  is  more  reconciled,"  she  said.  "Since 
she  learned  who  you  were  she  seems  to  feel  better  about 
it." 

I  shook  my  head,  ruefully.  "Yet  she  referred  to  me 
as  a  'nobody'  only  this  morning,"  I  observed. 

"Yes,  but  that  was  before  she  knew  you  were  a  Ben 
nett.  The  Bennetts  are  a  very  good  family,  so  she  says. 
And  she  informed  me  that  she  always  expected  me  to 
throw  myself  away,  so  she  was  not  altogether  unpre 
pared." 

I  sighed.  "Throwing  yourself  away  is  exactly  what 
you  have  done,  I'm  afraid,"  I  answered. 

She  put  her  hand  to  my  lips.  "Hush !"  she  whispered. 
"At  all  events,  I  made  a  lucky  throw.  I'm  very  glad 
you  caught  me,  dear." 

There  was  a  rustle  of  leaves  just  behind  us  and  a  star 
tled  exclamation.  I  turned  and  saw  Lute  Rogers  stand 
ing  there  in  the  path,  an  expression  on  his  face  which 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  for  no  description  could 
do  justice  to  it.  We  looked  at  Lute  and  he  looked  at  us. 

He  was  the  first  to  recover. 

"My  time!"  exclaimed  Lute.    "My  time!" 

He  turned  and  fled. 

"Come  here !"  I  shouted  after  him.  "Come  back  here 
this  minute !  Lute,  come  back !" 

Lute  came,  looking  shamefaced  and  awkward. 

"Where  were  you  going?"  I  demanded. 

"I — I  was  cal'latin'  to  go  and  tell  Dorindy,"  he  fal 
tered. 

"You'll  tell  nobody.  Nobody,  do  you  hear!  I'll  tell 
Dorinda  myself,  when  it  is  necessary.  What  were  you 
doing  here?  spying  on  me  in  that  fashion." 

468 


THE   RISE   OF   ROSCOE    PAINE 

"I — I  wan't  spyin',  Ros.  Honest  truth,  I  wan't.  I— 
I  didn't  know  you  and  she  was — was " 

"Never  mind  that.    What  were  you  doing  here?" 

"I  was  chasin'  after  you,  Ros.  I  just  heard  the  most 
astonishing  thing.  Jed  Dean  was  to  the  house  to  make 
Diorindy  and  me  promise  to  say  nothin'  about  that  Shore 
Lane  'cause  you  never  sold  it,  and  he  said  Mr.  Colton 
had  offered  you  a  turrible  fine  job  along  of  him  and 
that  you  was  goin'  to  take  it.  I  wanted  to  find  you  and 
ask  it  'twas  true.  'Taint  true,  is  it,  Ros  ?"  .  wistfully. 
"By  time  !  I  wish  'twas." 

Before  I  could  answer  Mabel  spoke. 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  Mr.  Rogers,"  she  said.  "It  is  quite 
true  and  you  may  tell  anyone  you  like.  It  is  true,  isn't 
it,  Roscoe?" 

What  answer  could  I  make  ?  What  answer  would  you 
have  made  under  the  circumstances? 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation.  "I 
guess  it  is  true,  Lute." 


(i) 

THE  END 


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A     000816449     3 


